Mirrored Fate
by Melira
Summary: An ion storm at the end of an away mission lands Jim, Bones, Uhura and Chekov in the mirror universe. Staying undetected in the rather hostile environment and getting back could prove to be quite difficult. Especially because this world's Spock is even worse than theirs ever was.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note  
Disclaimer #1: I don't own Star Trek.  
Disclaimer #2: First of all: This story is perfectly comprehendable as long as you have seen Star Trek, no need for knowing any of the stories mentioned in the following explanation.  
I don't exactly own this story either. Some of you may have read "Personal Log of Leonard McCoy" by Avirra. This story is the fully written version of Year Two, chapters 50 to 55, the sister story to "Distorted Reflections" if you will, and published with the author's permission. Reading those isn't required to understand my story. At one or two points I took small liberties by changing minor facts, a tiny bit of artistic license, but generally I did my best to stay true to the original, including facts from earlier and later in the Logs as well as the "An Unholy Alliance"-series.  
_

* * *

Who knew beaming during an ion storm could land you in an alternate universe? Leonard McCoy sure hadn't. And he would have done a lot to keep it that way. But, as faith would have it, no such luck for him. Honestly, he was starting to blame all those incidents on Jim. Wherever that guy went, all hell broke loose in one way or another. And typical for McCoy he would make him of all people his best friend. Sometimes he wondered what crimes he had committed in an earlier live to deserve this.

oOo

Doctor Leonard McCoy had never liked the tingling sensation that spread throughout the whole body when it was de-materialized and re-materialized in a matter of seconds. But it sure beat this. As soon as the image of Cerberus around him vanished, a horrible stretching began. McCoy felt as if something was pulling at every single cell of his body at once. And suddenly a new picture flashed before his eyes. He saw himself, a reflection. Or rather a photograph of himself someone had tampered with. His hair was different and he wore an unfamiliar uniform. But before he could think about this weird hallucination, a pain shot through him the like he had rarely ever, if at all, experienced before. When it stopped as abrupt as it had started, it left McCoy gasping and only barely on his feet.

He needed a few seconds to realize something was different. At the first glance around, everything seemed familiar. It took a second look to notice, things had changed. The transporter room they had landed in just didn't look right. Similar, yes, but the consoles were placed at a slightly sharper angle in proportion to the door and the floor seemed to be two shades darker than it should be. Confused, he took a more thorough look around, trying to determine where he was. Had another ship picked them up, either by chance or on purpose? It wouldn't have been the first time crewmembers had been taken hostage. Damn, not even the first time he had been abducted. But for what reason? They had already saved the children on Cerberus, there was no need to try and force them into doing so anymore. Not to mention the fact that Jim as Captain would never refuse to help out anybody, as long as it was in his power.

In his survey, McCoy's eyes fell onto the other three. Jim, Nyota and Pavel looked as shaken as he himself felt, but that wasn't what worried him. Their appearance was. Nyota wasn't wearing her trademark ponytail and Pavel had stripes on his sleeves. In fact, all their uniforms looked different. The male ones looked like the one McCoy had seen on himself when he had been transported here. And Nyota's... Well, it didn't leave much room for imagination. Even less so than usual. And they all had daggers attached to their belts. Why would something like that be necessary? The thought alone was disturbing.

He exchanged confused glances with the two junior officers while Jim seemed to be fixated on the control panel. McCoy followed his line of sight but before his eyes could reach the people behind the glass wall, they got caught by the plate on the wall next to the doorway. It read ISS Enterprise. ISS Enterprise? And right next to it, where the symbol of the Federation should have been, there was a different emblem. The earth on a dagger. Although it was just a small icon, it somehow managed to look disgusting. McCoy turned around again intending to address Jim but a vaguely familiar voice sounding from the consoles diverted his attention.

"Captain Kirk, Doctor McCoy, Lieutenants Uhura and Chekov, welcome back aboard. Any new orders due to the developments planet-side?" The tone of the man speaking was all business, but careful, almost afraid of something. He didn't sound as if he was used to having normal conversations. Poor fellow, McCoy involuntarily thought, must be a lonely life. From his left he could hear Jim answer. If he hadn't known him so well, the slight insecurity mixed with curiosity in his friends voice would have escaped his notion.

"None, Lieutenant Kyle, continue." Lucky thing James T. Kirk was a quick thinker and managed to adapt to practically any given situation in milliseconds. His short answer matched the questioner's tone exactly.

The Captain stepped down from the pad he was still standing on, the other three following behind closely. When they reached the empty hallway, Pavel was the first to speak.

"Vhere are vi?", he asked in a low voice that couldn't quite hide how scared he was. Sometimes, it was only too easy to forget the boy was only 19 years old but on other occasions, he seemed to be even younger.

"I would guess this is the alternate universe, Spock's older self once mentioned to me", Jim answered quietly while continuing down the hallway. "Everything is similar to the world we come from but also different, some things more so, others less. Apparently, the Enterprise is the Enterprise here, too, with Bones being a doctor and me being Captain, but concerning the rest... I have no idea. Congratulations on the promotion by the way." He turned and grinned at Pavel. Although it seemed carefree and certainly had the desired effect on the young man – calming him down - , McCoy could see right through it. Jim was equally worried as he himself was.

"So what do we do now?", Nyota piped in.

"Stay low, for one", McCoy said. "We don't know how things are run around here and, more importantly, we don't know what our counterparts characters are like."

"Exactly," Jim took over the explanation. "This world seems to be harsher than hours, considering how that technician addressed us. And it's ISS Enterprise here, not USS. I can only imagine the I standing for Imperial, instead of the U for United. And in my opinion, Imperial sounds a lot like dictatorship."

McCoy could see Nyota shiver slightly.

"Then how do we get back? I imagine just beaming isn't a possibility?" Her voice showed only the slightest hint of hope, which was immediately crushed by Pavel.

"No, I don't sink so. I azoom, ze two worlds are existing right next to each ozer, like..." he was looking for an analogy, "... like two sheets of paper in ey book. Ze letters can't just transfer from wone to ze ozer, only under very special circumstances. In zeez case an ion storm vile ze same persons in bose worlds are on ze same spot and try to transport at ze same time."

"But that's... That's impossible!" Nyota was shocked.

"No, it isn't. Just highly unlikely. Which is why it never happened before, as far as I know." Jim's voice didn't betray any of his thoughts. "At least not in our reality. Once we're back, you can ask Spock what the odds are, I'm sure he'll love the challenge."

"In case we ever get back", McCoy muttered under his breath.

"Why, Bones, optimistic as always, aren't you?" Jim had obviously pulled himself together completely and taken over command while at the same time reassuring everyone everything would end well in this unique way of his. Oddly enough, it seemed to work on the other two and even McCoy felt slightly better. Someday he'd get to the bottom of this kid's secret. If he had ever met anyone who inspired people to follow him to hell and back, it was Jim Kirk. Granted, you needed to get over the urge to punch him in the face first, but then...

"So, where do you plan on going next? Running around in these hallways won't do us any good." McCoy could practically see Jim coming up with a plan.

"We'll split up." The captain lifted his hand to stop the noises of protest Nyota and Pavel instantly made. "Only shortly. Bones and I will go to the bridge, showing we're back from whatever mission we were on, while you two head for sickbay. We will meet you there, in the CMO's office, after giving word that Bones removed both of you from this shift cycle, same as himself and me. We'll tell the rest of the command crew we aren't feeling too great because of a transporter malfunction due to the ion storm. And that we'll therefore head for Medical, too, so we can get a check up."

Although neither of them seemed to be too happy about the plan, both Nyota and Pavel nodded and left them at the next corner. McCoy wasn't sure if he was imagining it or if they were walking closer to each other than they usually would, trying to draw some comfort from the other's presence in this foreign and probably dangerous environment. If so, he couldn't hold it against them.

Continuing towards the bridge, McCoy cast Jim a glance.

"Do you really think there's any chance we can get through this undiscovered?"

"No, not really. But we have to try at least, don't we?" Now that the others were out of hearing range, Jim let his facade drop slightly. McCoy could hear how worried his friend was. "Finding a way back home will prove to be a major problem. Since we have to beware of this world's Scotty, we don't have free reign in Engineering which will make everything a lot more complicated."

"Did the older Spock tell you anything more about this dimension?" Since Jim sounded so wary, McCoy felt obliged to ask.

He lifted a hand to his face and rubbed over his eyes. "Only that it's far less friendly than ours. He refused to say anymore in order to not influence any possible future events."

"Damn hobgoblin." Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jim turning towards him.

"Hobgoblin?" he asked amused. "I thought our Spock was the hobgoblin."

"Well, damn old future hobgoblin, then." This made the other man snort.

"Honestly, Bones? There were times when you were far more creative with giving out names. Seems you got old."

"Oh shut up." It wasn't that McCoy didn't appreciate his friend's attempt to lighten the mood, he just was too worried for it to work.

To his big surprise, his command worked. For once in his life. Although that probably was due to the fact that they had reached the turbo lift leading to the Bridge rather than his influence over Jim.

"Alright then, let's beard the lion in his den." And with that, they entered the cabin.

When the door opened, a voice sounded from the helm. "Captain on the bridge." It was some unknown Lieutenant manning Chekov's seat. To McCoy's big surprise everyone already present suddenly moved in unison. They all put their right fist over their hearts and then extended the whole arm towards them. It obviously was some kind of formal greeting, an archaic salute. He wasn't sure how to react. Were they supposed to greet back or was it a sign of respect towards the Captain? Not knowing what to do, McCoy kept his eyes on Jim who was standing half a step in front of him. The younger man hesitated for the shortest of moments, then gave a curt nod. McCoy decided to keep still.

Same as in the transporter room, he took a thorough look around. The Bridge seemed pretty much the same they were used to. All consoles were standing where they belonged, the captain's chair in the middle and the huge glass front facing space. McCoy had never liked that view. But next to all the familiarities, there were two exceptions. First, Sulu's face. A huge scare contorted the right side of his features from temple to cheek. The way it looked, McCoy guessed the wound hadn't been treated properly. And second, everybody on the Bridge was human, save a well-known Half-Vulcan.

Spock, who had stood from the Captain's chair to salute, now approached them in a manner even stiffer than usual. Despite their precarious situation, McCoy could only barely bite back a laugh. A goatee adorned the man's normally clean shaven face. It looked utterly ridiculous.

"Did your mission succeed, Captain?"

McCoy didn't envy Jim the duty to manoeuvre through this conversation.

"Yes, it did. But there was an ion storm when we beamed back aboard which left us a bit shaken up." There was no trace of insecurity in his friend's voice. McCoy couldn't help but admire his talent as an actor. "Lieutenants Chekov and Uhura are currently in Medbay awaiting a check up to make sure nothing more severe than a headache was caused. I removed both of them from this shift cycle to ensure there is no further harm done to them. Same goes for Doctor McCoy and myself."

Spock's expression changed the tiniest bit. His mouth pulled a bit tighter and his left eyebrow moved about a millimetre towards his hairline. He seemed concerned, as far as a Vulcan was able to do so.

"Don't worry, Nyota is alright." Jim tried to calm him. Spock's eyebrow rose another millimetre.

"What punishment do you intend to inflict on Lieutenant Kyle?" he asked.

"Lieutenant Kyle?" The question clearly caught Jim off guard and he let his perfect facade drop for a moment.

"The technician currently responsible for the transporters. Certainly, there will be consequences to his failures." Spock's voice lacked all emotion, but McCoy could have sworn, the half-Vulcan was getting suspicious.

Jim noticed, too. "I know who Lieutenant Kyle is, thank you very much!", he snapped back. "And I will think of something suitable."

McCoy could feel his friend stiffen beside him as he agreed to punish a man for something he had had absolutely no power over. This universe seemed to be even darker than expected.

"I will inform you of my decision once we are done with the check ups. Doctor McCoy and I only came up here to fill you in about what happened. We are practically on our way down to Medbay."

To McCoy, Jim's tactic was obvious. Get out of here and away from prying eyes and even more importantly so ears as fast as possible. And before they could raise any more suspicion. Luckily, it seemed to work. At least until: "I will accompany you."

Both men started when Spock moved towards them.

"No, it's alright, we got this. It's only a routine check up Bones will perform on all of us and afterwards the Lieutenants will be sent to their quarters in order to get some rest." Jim hurried to say, probably a bit too fast to be inconspicuous. Another millimetre for Spock's eyebrow. His face started to look real asymmetric now. McCoy wondered if this was to blame on the hurry Jim had spoken in or the unthought use of his nickname. Who knew if this world's Jim had taken to the same stupid habit. If not, this world's First Officer had reason to be seriously suspicious now.

"Spock, you have the conn. Gentlemen", Jim nodded once in the general direction of his counterpart's command crew and turned for the turbo lift, McCoy at his heels. Behind them, everyone on the Bridge saluted.

When they exited it and started moving down the hallway that should be leading to Sickbay, Jim spoke up, keeping his voice low.

"I don't think that went too well. This Spock is even worse than ours was in the beginning."

"No argument there. Damn, what is this world even like? They honestly want to punish that Lieutenant ..."

"Kyle", Jim piped in.

"Right. That Lieutenant Kyle for the ion storm?"

"Seems like it. Hell, I only hope we manage to get through this undiscovered. I don't even want to imagine what will happen when someone realizes we're impostors."

McCoy nodded grimly at that.

While they walked down the corridors, they twice encountered men from Security. Both of them instantly stood straight when they neared and saluted when they passed. Still not knowing what was expected of them, Jim continued to nod in response while McCoy did nothing.

They reached the door marked "Medical" and McCoy almost sighed in relief. At least, this Enterprise had the same blueprints as theirs. Everything else would have made staying undercover a hell of a lot more difficult.

Taking the first step inside, McCoy almost bounced back again. This was nothing like his Sickbay. The main room in its structure looked the same, sure, but every detail was somehow changed. There were more beds with more occupants, each and every one of them strapped down, confined to their biobeds by white thongs. There were no nightstands and no personal belongings. Many of the patients showed a variety of injuries that looked a lot like they were inflicted by another humanoid to a defenceless victim. Like torture, in short. The shudder running down McCoy's spine only increased when he registered the nurses. They didn't smile as his mostly did but rushed from one patient to the next, bellowing orders and using unnecessary force. The shelves contained the usual boxes with meds but also some mean looking tools he had never seen before. Which meant quite something, considering the width of his studies. After another second he made the same observations as he had on the Bridge. Nearly everyone was human, there were no aliens, except for an Orion at the far end of the room. She looked vaguely familiar.

"It's Gaila", Jim whispered. "Remember her? She was Nyota's roommate. Assigned to the Farragut, which was destroyed in Nero's first attack." Sadness tinted the words. McCoy knew, his friend still wasn't over all the destruction and death caused by the mad Romulan, although it had been three years since then.

He nodded. "Yes, I remember. Apparently, here she had more luck."

One of the nurses approached them.

"Captain. Doctor McCoy. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, thanks, Layali." McCoy gave her a small smile. He had always liked her. A smart girl with good manners and a healthy portion of self-confidence when she knew she was good at something, although never arrogant. But right now he just wanted to stay as far away as possible from anyone native to this other world.

She looked slightly taken aback. Her expression confused him but he decided asking would do more harm than good and so he kept silent.

"Actually, if you could tell us where Lieutenants Uhura and Chekov currently are, it would be appreciated." Of course. McCoy had been too overwhelmed by the strangeness of his habitat, he had shortly lost track of why they were here. It took Jim's question to remind him.

"They are waiting in the CMO's office. They said you were to do a check up on them, Doctor McCoy?" The statement sounded more like a question than a fact, as if she needed confirmation for that apparently peculiar declaration.

"Yes, yes, I am", he hurried to confirm. "Have to make sure that ion storm didn't do anything funny to our systems. Jim." He beckoned to his friend and pushed past Layali towards the door which marked the entrance to his office.

Once inside, he let out a relieved breath. "Dammit, I don't know how long I'll be able to keep up with this charade!" That earned him worried glances from both Nyota and Pavel, who were sitting in the chairs in front of the desk. The neatly tidy desk. Not a single stray PADD lying around. McCoy assumed, if he tested the surface, he'd find traces of disinfectant. Horrible thought. He was all for perfectly clean workspaces when it came to patients but his desk? No, he needed to see that he spent time there, otherwise he wouldn't feel obliged to care for all the paperwork coming with his position as CMO.

He shook his head to clear it and concentrate on the situation at hand again. While he had been lost in thought, Nyota had stood up.

"Captain, what are we going to do now? We can't hide in here forever, to find a way back home we need to have access to at least the transporters, don't we?" She looked questioningly at Pavel who nodded eagerly.

"Yyeas, ve do. I sink, ve vill need to reverse ze process by bypassing ze localization circuits and amplifying ze parameters for personnel transport somehow in order to get back. And I zink, ze pattern buffer needs to be reprogrammed, too. But I am not sure zat is even possible. Not if ve have to work wizout Mr. Scott and trying not to get coght. It vill be like crossing zrough the whole neutral zone sending out every signal possible wizout the Klingons noticing."

"Great!" McCoy groaned. "Why is it always us, having such luck?" His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Stuck in an alternate universe where everybody is to be assumed hostile and without a real way back home."

"Chin up, Bones. I'm sure, Chekov will manage, he always does." The young man blushed at his superior's compliment. "For now, we have to find out what our counterparts are like. I'm afraid we already drew more attention than is good and maybe knowing their personal history will help us understand them better. Bones, you do the check up on all of us while I hack into the system to get our records. I want to be sure we didn't suffer any long term damage we aren't aware of yet, due to this switching universe thing."

The quarter of an hour later, McCoy had finished the examinations without any results. Apparently the only harm done was them being in an assumably hostile environment. At least something. He had been afraid there could be some damage on a cellular level. Luckily, the only things out of the norm were his own elevated blood pressure and Pavel's elevated heart rate. No need to worry there. After he had completed the exams, he had shortly taken the time to record a few comments for the CMO's log. There was no knowing when he'd get an opportunity again.

Meanwhile, Jim had used his considerable talent for semi-legal activities to get access to the ship's mainframe. After reading their files, his forehead showed more creases than a Klingon's. Nyota, who was standing behind him, glancing over his shoulder to read for herself, twitched uneasily.

McCoy, just finished recording on his tricorder, looked at them.

"What is it?"

"Our origins are mostly the same, but the stories of our lives..." Jim sounded hesitant. "Well, let's just say Pike pulled you out of prison, Bones, and you have an unhealthy fascination for poisons. Some competitors of Nyota's mysteriously disappeared along the way. My name is connected to more than one inexplicable death, although nothing could ever be proven. And Pavel's files are nearly blank. As if someone had tampered with them." He suddenly stopped.

"Jim?"

Looking over his Captain's shoulder, Chekov answered instead. "Admiral Pike eez still alive heer", he stated. "Oh." A sad expression took over his face. "But Lieutenant Hendorff and Lieutenant Marcus are not, seer."

"Sounds like this is some twisted evil version of our world, don't you think? Not just parallel but kind of reversed", McCoy said.

"Like a mirror", Nyota observed. "A distorted reflection."

"Oh great, I hope we don't attract attention because our counterparts here are all lefties." McCoy couldn't hide his weariness.

"I do not think your handedness will be of much concern." All four of them jumped at the unexpected voice coming from the door. Spock stood there, a hoard of security officers behind him and a murderous expression on his face.

* * *

 _A/N:  
I hope you liked this first part, the next should follow within the week, not sure when exactly.  
Two and a half things before you leave:  
I'm not a native speaker, so please point out any mistakes I made so I can correct them and learn from them.  
I know, it's too late for that one but still: Please don't laugh about my attempt at writing Chekov's accent. I never tried using a Russian accent before, not even in my own language, much less in English :'-D  
If you have the time to leave a short review, I'd be delighted. As someone once said "Reviews are how fanfiction authors get paid."  
_


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note:  
I'm sorry for the cliffhanger. I didn't mean to do that but the chapter would have gotten to long without making the break there.  
By the way, for those who read the Logs: You may have found the first big alteration I made. Technically, them getting there and Spock discovering them happened on two successive days, but as it didn't work for my version of the story, I changed that little fact. Sorry for that._

* * *

"As you just stated, you are not the real crewmembers of the ISS Enterprise. I demand an explanation." Spock looked at them, his eyes promising pain if they didn't obey.

It was obvious there was no wiggling out of the situation so Jim took a step away from the console he was still standing in front of and started explaining. His voice was as composed as his expression, no sign of insecurity or fear. Sometimes, McCoy was in awe of the man's qualities as Captain. Not that he would ever have said it out loud. Jim's ego was big enough as it was.

"As you noticed, there was an ion storm when we transported back from Cerberus. We believe it caused an interdimensional weakness leading to two parallel existing universes overlapping and opening up for a short time frame. Yours and ours. We are indeed who we appear to be, Captain James T. Kirk, Doctor Leonard McCoy, Lieutenant Nyota Uhura and Lieutenant Pavel Chekov." McCoy noticed the change in Pavel's rank. "But we belong to the USS Enterprise, not the ISS. This universe appears to be some kind of parallel version of ours."

It was impossible to tell what was on the Half-Vulcan's mind after that weird sounding explanation.

"You claim to be from another dimension?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, I do. And we are." Still no reaction.

"Did you indeed believe you could remain undiscovered while not even behaving like your counterparts? Apart from you lacking every single character treat distinguishing them."

"It was worth a try", Jim said with a shrug and his typical air of nonchalance.

"Escort him to the captain's quarters and lock the room. Two guards are to stay inside the room with him. Ensure he does not touch anything. I will see to him being brought to the Brig afterwards." Three of the security officers emerged from behind Spock and made a grab for Jim, who didn't try to put up a fight but didn't surrender too easily, either. They dragged him unceremoniously out of the room.

Pavel and Nyota had backed up until they stood with their backs pressed to the desk. Especially the young Russian looked scared out of his wits. McCoy held his ground in front of them, refusing to be intimidated. He had faced Spock before, he wouldn't back down now.

Spock took the five steps necessary to reach him and grabbed his left upper arm with far more force than necessary.

"I would strongly advise you to from now on follow any given orders." His grip tightened and McCoy flinched. He addressed the two junior officers. "Otherwise I will be forced to use more drastic measures to make you comply. And I do not think Doctor McCoy would find that desirable for his health." With that Spock twisted his hand violently before he let go and took a few steps back.

McCoy couldn't help it. He screamed at the searing pain flashing through his arm as his humerus fractured. He had – thanks to Jim – been in more than just one bar brawl and knew how to take a punch, not to mention the sometimes brutal training at the academy, but this ... The pain caused by a bone slowly breaking due to sheer twisting force was more than he had had to endure before. He would never admit it, but staying conscious proved to be far more difficult than he liked.

"No!" Nyota's shout managed to get through the haze in his brain and he could see her stepping forward out of the corner of his watering eye.

"To make my point clear: I will not hesitate to inflict more pain on the Doctor, or any of you for that matter, if you do not do exactly as you are told." Spock's voice was utterly emotionless which made the threat sound even more severe.

Nyota nodded hesitantly and stepped back again, her eyes dark with outrage. Pavel next to her seemed to be too shocked to do anything but stare. Poor kid, he had always been the most naïve one of all of them, probably due to his age. Seeing someone use brutal force just like that, when simple talking could have done the job, was probably more than he could bear. Especially when that someone looked just like one of his superiors. A man, he looked up to for his scientific competence.

"Concluding from the fact that you are here, while your counterparts are not, I assume they are in your version of the universe. Is that correct?" Spock's question wasn't aimed at anyone in particular but since he was the highest ranking officer among them, McCoy felt obliged to answer.

"We assume so, too, although we can't be sure." Phrasing the words correctly was hard, the pain kept trying to numb his tongue.

"Then I deem it to be in our mutual interest that we combine our strength in the effort to reverse the process."

McCoy would have snorted if he still had been able to. Mutual interest, right. That was one way to put it. Would be nice if they could agree on the methods to come to terms, too.

"Lieutenant Chekov, I suggest you assist Lieutenant Commander Scott in working out a way to return everyone to their ancestral place." Never had a suggestion been more of an order. The constant threat of torture was still hanging over them, so Pavel barely nodded, still too afraid to speak.

Spock made a short gesture towards the young man and a bulky security officer grabbed him, dragging him out of the room.

"Lieutenant Uhura." The cold way he pronounced the name made McCoy wonder whether this Spock was involved with the other Nyota, too. If so, he would have been to be pitied, if he hadn't proven to be such a sadistic bastard. "You'll be accompanied to the Brig as you are of no further use to us for now."

Another gesture and McCoy's last support was gone, too.

"Only the two of us left, what a cosy situation." He tried to tease Spock, if only in the attempt to be less frightened. Talking cost him all his remaining strength.

"I am surprised you find it 'cosy', Doctor." In a cruel, twisted mirroring of his Spock's facial expressions, this one raised an eyebrow.

"So you're not the slightest bit better at understanding irony than our Spock is. Nice to find at least one similarity." McCoy's tone was bitter. He just wanted to get rid of the man. The pain in his arm got harder to stand with the second as he didn't dare support it with his other arm, afraid he would dislodge the bone even further.

"I do not think it advisable for you to be overly bold, given your current position." Spock's voice was ice cold but somehow McCoy thought there was something like glee in it. Something like joy regarding the fact that he was utterly defenceless and therefore completely at the Half-Vulcan's mercy. It was depressing. As soon as he had managed to come to terms with his own Spock, he met another one who seemed to enjoy nothing better than making his life hell on earth.

The man approached him again, not caring that McCoy tried to back away.

"If you are anything like the Doctor McCoy I know, you have a MedKit with you at all times. Hand it over."

"Why?" The pain still flaring up and down his arm made his answer more short-breathed than he would have liked.

"Because of the damage you could cause with its contents. I can not be certain if it's a shared fascination, but this world's Doctor McCoy is highly interested in poisons and I know for a fact that he does not hesitate to use them. Therefore I will not allow you to keep this potential weapon." He held out a hand. "Hand it over."

McCoy took another step back, bumping into the desk just like Nyota and Pavel had before. He shook his head. His MedKit had always been his most reliable support. Something that had never failed him and had saved more than just one life over the course of the last decade. Letting go off it felt like giving up on his left arm. Which wouldn't have been the worst thing, he mused, considering the awful pain it currently caused him.

"I assure you I will use force, if you refuse to give it to me." The threat promised not even more pain but probably lasting damage, so McCoy fumbled with his jacket, trying to get the demanded item out of its inside pocket. It took him longer than usual since the fabric kept getting in the way and he had no way of holding it back. Eventually he managed and reluctantly gave it to Spock, who still showed no sign of emotion but somehow seemed to be utterly pleased nonetheless.

The man gave him a court nod. "In return I will allow your arm to be reset." He turned and headed for the door. Opening it, he called to the staff outside.

"Nurse Chapel." McCoy groaned. He knew the woman was more than capable of mending his arm but he had hoped to avoid contact with the counterparts of his associates as much as possible. He didn't want to know what they could be like if turned evil. Because that was obviously the clue in this world. Every fact he had observed up to this point indicated that kindness was a word completely unknown in this dimension.

"Commander." A short haired woman appeared.

"As you noticed, Captain Kirk as well as Lieutenants Uhura and Chekov are currently in custody. That is due to them being impostors, as is Doctor McCoy. They appear to be from a parallel dimension and have exchanged places with their counterparts from our side." McCoy was almost fascinated by how indifferent she took the information in. It seemed as if things like this happened to her every other day.

Spock continued. "Doctor McCoy's humerus has a rotation fracture. Reset it but do not treat it further. When you finished your task lock the Doctor in his office after removing all medical equipment from it. Ensure he does not attempt to get out. He is not to be spoken to by anyone but myself."

"Yes, sir." Hearing his Head Nurse speak with complete obedience after receiving such an inhumane order was almost too much to bear. His Christine Chapel would not have hesitated to shout at any officer who gave a command like this, not in the least bothered by his rank. To her, a patient's welfare always came first. What was wrong with this world?

Spock exited the room, leaving McCoy to an apparently merciless Nurse Chapel.

"I would sit down if I were you", she said, coldness being the only thing apparent in her voice. "This is going to hurt."

As if he didn't know. He moved to sit on the examination table at the far left corner of the room, clenching his teeth in preparation.

She positioned herself in front of him and moved a tricorder over his broken arm. After a few seconds of studying its readings, she put it aside and laid her hands on his arm, not exactly careful. He inhaled sharply, trying to ease the pain by focusing on his breathing. If a simple touch hurt this much, he didn't want to imagine what the twisting motion necessary to reset the bone was going to feel like. Let alone experiencing it without any anaesthesia.

Before he could spend another thought on the matter, the familiar unfamiliar woman in front of him gripped his arm tightly and twisted the broken ends of his humerus in opposite directions to bring them into place again.

The pain was worse than when the bone had been broken in the first place. Again, he screamed and fought to stay conscious, his vision blurring and nausea hitting him as a reaction to the nearly unbearable pain. He swayed on the spot and had to grip the bench he was sitting on harder in order to stay upright.

"As you are a doctor, I don't need to tell you that it would be a good idea not to use that arm of yours in any way, do I?" He could hear her gloat even through his heartbeat hammering in his ears. This person really was nothing like the Christine Chapel he knew.

"No, you don't", he ground out.

"I'll leave you to it, then", she said and moved over to the table, taking the one PADD laying on it with her. On her way out, she stopped at the control panel at the wall, tapping some code into it.

"All closets locked", the computer confirmed.

When she had left, the door closed behind her with a hissing noise.

Finally alone, McCoy gave up on keeping up an appearance. He carefully let himself sink into a lying position, watching out for his arm to be moved as little as possible. Damn, that hurt! That green-blooded maniac hadn't even left him a hypospray, so there was no way for him to ease the pain. He closed his eyes and directed all his concentration onto his breathing pattern. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. It took a while, but eventually the pain became more bearable, allowing him to think clearly again. Almost, at least.

What was going to happen now? He couldn't tell, try as he mightmight, although he had been through quite a few not-so-nice situations already in his life. They had mostly been induced by misadventures occurring during some recon mission or another. He felt like every time he was part of the landing party, something went horribly wrong. Typical that the last one had worked out nearly as good as possible only for the ultimate disaster to arise afterwards. He should have been expecting it, now that he came to think of it. But although he could claim to have experience with bad situations, rarely had he been in such a deep pit. Stranded in an alternate, completely hostile universe, parted from his friends with no possibility to contact them and incapacitated by a broken arm for which he didn't even could take pain meds. Oh, and without knowing for sure that there was a way back home, of course. He was completely helpless and as a physician, there was nothing worse to him.

He cautiously sat back up, hissing when the pain got worse again. Even if he couldn't do anything else, there had to be a way of helping his arm. He looked around. Closed closets, an empty desk, an examination table. Nothing he could use as a splint. Well then, only one option left, whether he liked it or not and without regarding its practicability.

With slow motions, he shed his uniform jacket and the blue shirt underneath it. Finally, he pulled off the black one directly covering his torso. When he had finished, he had to take a few minutes just breathing, to ease the pain to a bearable level again. When the world had stopped turning, he placed the black fabric on the ground and put a foot onto it. With his right hand he gripped the seam and tore.

As practical as these nearly indestructible fibres were, right now they proved to be a nuisance. It took nearly ten minutes to tear four strips loose which matched his needs. After sitting down on the ground he picked two strips each and knotted them together, which was quite a challenge, one-handed. This way he produced two longer pieces, vaguely resembling bandages.

Before he continued, he carefully put the blue shirt on again. It felt weird on his skin without the black one underneath it. When it was back in place, he took another few minutes to just breathe.

After making a sling out of the first piece, he put it around his neck and eased his left forearm into it. The world started spinning again and he had to lean back against the examination table he was sitting in front of. Good thing about being on the floor, even if you tipped over, you never fell deep.

Now for the other piece. Putting it around his torso wasn't exactly easy but he managed eventually. After fixating it he inspected his work. One sling around his neck held his forearm at a right angle in front of him, the other firmly held the first one close to his body, so his arm couldn't be moved. It looked like a shabby version of a triangular bandage used as an immobiliser. He had seen pictures of it in books about medicine in the earlier centuries. Sometimes, the very basics proved to be the most effective methods. Or the only ones available...

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 _A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope I'll see you back for chapter three :-)  
And I'll apologize in advance for everything not so nice that's about to happen to those four from now on. It wasn't my decision to put them through all this. Well, mostly it wasn't... *halo around my head*  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Welcome back to those few reading this story. I have to admit, I would have thougt I'd get at least a bit more feedback on this but oh well... As long as there is anyone out there enjoying this even a little, that's good enough for me.  
Have fun reading!_

* * *

Jim was pacing restlessly. Eight steps to the wall, turn on the spot, eight steps to the door, turn and start all over again. He simply ignored the two guards constantly watching him, his mind was on more important matters than those brainless musclemen. First and foremost on how exactly the four of them had gotten here. If there was a way back. And what was happening to the other three while he wasn't with them. He hated being separated from his crew during a crisis. He was their captain, for God's sake. They were his responsibility, it was his duty to look out for them and to protect them. But locked away in his counterpart's office he couldn't do anything. It ate him alive. He had never been able to stand helplessness. Throw him in the middle of a warzone facing impossible odds and he had no problem whatsoever to stay calm, but this... Not even knowing what was going on was nearly more than he could take.

The whole situation was close to freaking him out. Facing apparently familiar people who had turned evil was somehow far more disconcerting than just being captured by some alien race. Of course, he knew the people here were not the ones he had spent the last two years with but that didn't change the fact that they looked exactly the same. Apart from small alterations, at least. Sulu's scar looked horrible and seeing Spock with a goatee would have been hilarious under different circumstances. But as it was, it only made this world more disturbing.

As did all those other little differences. What had really rattled him was what he had seen on the way here. That horrible symbol of what was apparently called the Empire where the one of the Federation should have been. The light even colder than on his Enterprise, no one smiling just for the sake of it, no friendly banter on the corridors and security officers positioned at every second corner, all saluting. Jim wondered how people could stand living here, he would have gone crazy after three days tops.

After what felt like half an eternity, the door opened with a hissing noise. As Jim was just on his way to the wall, he swirled around to face the person coming in. It was Spock, just as expected. He was First Officer in this universe, too, so it was only natural for him to take over when his own captain was unavailable. Gone to a parallel world, for instance. The more-or-less stranger shortly looked at the men still standing guard.

"Step outside, I am perfectly able to handle him myself." Without so much as a second look both of them turned on the spot and left through the still open door. It closed behind them.

Jim didn't like this one little bit. He knew how dangerous his own Spock could be. He didn't even dare imagining what this evil version of his XO was capable of.

He squared his shoulders, preparing himself for whatever was to come.

"Where is my crew?" he demanded to know. That earned him a raised eyebrow. Apparently his tone wasn't to Spock's liking. Well, he didn't care too much, never had. His own welfare meant fairly little to him, much to Bones' annoyance.

"Presupposed your claiming to be from a parallel dimension is correct, your crew most likely is still there." Taking every word literally, just as his counterpart. Jim had seldom encountered a habit so infuriating. He breathed in deeply to calm himself down. This whole situation had him on edge. He just wanted to know the others were alright and preferably have them home as soon as possible. Unharmed, if he had his will. Which, admittedly, was rarely the case.

"Stop playing games with me. You know I mean the three who came with me. McCoy, Uhura and Chekov. Where are they?" The repeated demand made the eyebrow raise even higher.

"They are taken care of." The answer made Jim take a step back. Taken care of. He had never heard those words used in a good way. What had been done to them? Surely they were still alive, were they? He could feel his throat getting tight with fear. He didn't know how far the people here would go, exactly how common unfounded cruelty was.

"How are they? Did you leave them unharmed?"

"Reasonably. I can assure you, they are alive." Alive. Not unharmed. He didn't know whether he should be relieved or even more worried. His thoughts kept drifting away, showing him pictures of unconscious people and bleeding wounds. He shook his head quickly, trying to concentrate again. In order not to get too emotional, he started being sarcastic. That had always been his last resort and until now had always helped. Him, at least.

"Suppose I can call us lucky for that. Why don't you just kill us?" His voice was bitter and he could hear it. But he rather had that than pleading.

"That would be illogical for we do not know for certain if it is possible to reverse the process which led to you being here, if not all of those involved are still alive." Somewhere deep inside him Jim felt relief. At least all of them would make it out of here. The questions left: When. And in what state. He fought not to let his feelings show.

"So it's not kind-heartedness on your part but simple calculation." He briefly wondered if it was wise to be openly hostile, but he assumed Spock didn't care anyways.

"If you want to call it that, yes, I presume so." No, obviously he really didn't.

"I called my own Spock a pointy-eared bastard once, for something far less heartless than what you are pulling off right now. I have to admit, I'm at loss for a strong enough name for you." Bones surely would have been more successful. The doctor had always been most creative when it came to names and swearwords. Jim shook his head again, partly out of sheer frustration over the situation, partly because he was unable to do anything else but needed a way of expressing how he felt. He was so damn helpless!

Although Spock definitely registered the movement, he didn't comment on it. "I do not think it is of any importance what you may or may not call me."

"Not to you, maybe, but it certainly would make me feel better." Now, more or less knowing how his crew was left one question remaining. "So, why did you send me here first instead of directly to the Brig?" He had wondered the whole time. Were they split up completely, so they couldn't conspire? Or was it just him, separated from the rest? And if so, why?

"To question you in private." Jim was almost surprised to get a straight answer. Although it left much to be desired. The reason, for example. It was his turn to raise a questioning eyebrow.

"You sounded rather sure when asked what you being here is about", Spock said. "And while a parallel universe is the most logical explanation I do not think it to be the only one. For that reason I found it necessary to inquire whether you may have heard of such a thing as a second, quite similar, dimension before." The question should have seemed likely to come, but Jim had to admit, he hadn't thought of it. And neither of an answer. He debated whether telling the truth would be a clever decision or not. He was reluctant to share too much information with those psychopaths over here, never knowing what they might do with it. On the other hand... Said psychopaths were their only hope to ever get back to their own dimension. Cooperation it was, then.

"I've heard of it before. A few years back, a mad Romulan from the future attacked the Federation after traveling through a black hole which created another timeline", he summarized the events of his first real mission in space. "That hole brought, alongside him, an older version of our Spock. He is very reluctant to share any information about the time he is from, but he did tell me about the existence of another universe, a second version of ours. Although nothing more specific than that and the fact that it's less friendly than ours... So when we stranded here, I immediately recognized our surroundings for what they were." He didn't know what reaction was to be expected. Probably an eyebrow raised in incredulity, reaching before unknown heights. But no, just a short nod.

"A similar incident occured here so I trust your story to be true." That explained the undramatic response. And it meant that his universe wasn't the same as the one the old Spock had mentioned. When the people here had had a Nero, too, it meant this was an alternate timeline as well. So there were four versions of each of them? One in every timeline and universe. Jim had problems wrapping his head around the whole of it. But he admittedly was looking forward to tell his Spock about it. The XO would most definitely find it highly interesting. If he didn't already know it from the counterparts currently stranded in his home dimension. At this point in his train of thought, Jim gave up on all the confusing ventures and concentrated on the conversation at hand again.

"How nice of you." He couldn't bring himself to abandon the sarcasm, it was so much easier to use than an indifferent tone. "So, is your curiosity satisfied?", he asked, hoping it was so he could at least be left alone, if not led to his comrades.

"Not entirely." Jim swore inwardly. "You mentioned a 'Federation'. I suppose that is your world's equivalent to the Empire. Is that assumption correct?" It almost sounded like curiosity. The first emotion he was able to trace in this Spock. He tagged it as an achievement.

"Yes, it is." Maybe this course of the conversation could be of use to Jim, too. With a little luck, he could bring his opponent to reveal some of the facts about this dimension and who knew, they could come in handy sometimes.

"Does it solely incorporate the human race?"

Jim almost snorted at the thought. "What? No! Founding members alone were the United Earth, Vulcan, the Andorian Empire and Tellar Prime. By now, dozens of planets have joined in." Now, Spock raised the other eyebrow. Jim wondered what revelation it would take to provoke a real, face-embracing expression from this man.

"How was it possible for such a democratic system to develop after the incident during the First Contact?"

Now Jim was the curious one. "What incident? The Vulcans came to Earth, they were greeted and history took its course. End of story." Well, more or less. But he thought his summary of the ancient happenings sufficient for the occasion. He wanted to know what had happened here rather than reciting a history book.

"How peculiar." There, a slight tilt of the head. Nearly a full reaction.

"What do you mean?"

"It is of no importance to you." Typical for the Half-Vulcan. Every human would have elaborated, but no, Spock confined himself to cryptic statements without any informational value and then refused to explain.

"Oh, come on, Spock. What happened here in 2063?" Jim could practically see the wheels in Spock's head turning, deciding whether it could do damage to share the information or not, until finally: "The first Vulcan to set foot on Earth was immediately shot by Zefram Cochrane."

"Cochrane shot him?" Jim was utterly flabbergasted. Whatever he had expected, it hadn't been this drastic. What was this world like? Shoot first, ask questions later when meeting a new race? Awesome! Now, he was back to the repelled state from before. And with it came the worry about his crew.

"It appears to have happened differently on your earth." Jim shortly thought about ignoring the implied question, just as Spock would have, but decided against it as it would only stall the end of this conversation.

"You could say so, yes", he answered. "Cochrane didn't shoot him. He shook his hand. As civil people do." There the sarcasm was, once again. "But apparently, common sense and kindness in combination is not a thing to be found easily in this universe. Guess it shouldn't have surprised me that the very first interaction between two important races was utterly hostile." Jim shook his head for the third time, now in exasperation and bitterness. But at the same time, a question popped up in his mind. "What I wonder, though, is how you came to be a high-ranking officer on the most advanced vessel in existence when apparently humans dominate everything. I can't imagine a Half-Human having an easy life under the given circumstances." Somehow, the term Half-Human sounded weird in Jim's ears. Spock usually was referred to as Half-Vulcan rather than the other way round.

"I do not think that is any of your concern." The answer sounded so stern, Jim was tempted to take a reflexive step back. He managed to stay rooted to the spot but decided to leave the matter be. No need to directly push the man holding the power on a personal level. Even Jim wasn't as stupid as that. Not twice, anyways. He remembered the first time all too well, and that had been a friendly version of Spock. Not to imagine what this one was capable of. Even if killing wasn't an option, there certainly was a fair amount of torturing methods. And Jim wasn't keen on having them inflicted on himself or, even worse, his crew.

"Right." He almost raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Now that you know what you came here to ask for, can you please let me see my crew?" He had little hope but decided asking couldn't hurt. Well, not too much, at least.

"That is not a question of my ability to do so but my intention." That drew an exasperated sigh from Jim. He wasn't sure whether Spock did this on purpose or really didn't get the question's meaning.

"Right. So, are you willing to let me see my crew now that I answered your questions?"

"As it is, I am not inclined to do so. Although I will get you near at least some of them." Jim wasn't sure what to make of that. It surely didn't sound good. But by now, he had given up all hope on getting what he wanted. Maybe playing along was the best course of action, for once. So he confined himself to an indifferent nod. Spock looked at him for a short moment before turning to the panel in the wall and opening the door. He beckoned to the two officers still waiting outside. They walked in and grabbed Jim, one shoulder each. It was hard not to put up a fight, but Jim managed not to try and shake their hands off. It probably wouldn't have done him much good.

Spock led the way down the hallway, into the turbolift at the end of it and down another hallway until they arrived at the Brig. Jim had never liked the huge white room, it somehow seemed menacing to him even on his own ship. And here, it was far worse. To the right, he could see one of the cells being equipped with a chair that had restraints on the legs and armrests. Next to it there was a table with some unfamiliar devices on it. He was quite sure they weren't designed to do anything nice. And at the far end of the room, there was a small chamber just big enough to fit one person in it. He didn't even want to know what it was for.

He pulled his gaze away and to the left. In one of the glasslike cells there was a person. On a second look, he identified Nyota. She was standing upright and he could see no blood on her. His relief was immediate. Maybe Spock had only implied there had been harm done to intimidate him.

But when he was pushed in her direction and she looked at him, he could see her desperate expression. Really desperate. What had happened that made her look like this? He tensed again although he couldn't do anything and he knew it. He just locked eyes with her and tried to give her a reassuring nod. Although whether it worked was to be doubted. Before he could do anything else, he was shoved unceremoniously in the cell next to her. When he turned in her direction, he found the wall separating them to be reflective. And so where all the others. Jim turned several times on the spot, feeling panic welling up inside him. He didn't like being unable to have an eye on his surroundings, it gave him an unmatched sense of confinement and helplessness. It took several deep breaths to calm him down enough to think clearly again. He walked over to the mirror bordering on Nyota's cell and knocked on it. No response. He waited and tried again, but didn't get an answer.

"Nyota?" He knew, it was probably useless, but he called out for her anyways.

Only after the better part of an hour of trying did he resign and let himself sink onto the bench at the back wall, accepting his fate of not being able to see or hear anything from outside his cell.

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 _A/N: Thanks for reading! I'm still not entirely happy with this chapter, but it was the best I could do. I hope you liked it better than I did!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thanks to the two reviewers who took the time to give me some feedback. It was very much appreciated!  
_ _Now on with the story, once again from a new point of view._

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Nyota couldn't help but watch her Captain worriedly. It'd been three hours in her estimation since he'd been brought in and his untypical behaviour concerned her. Not that he was injured, no, he seemed fine, but she had never seen him act like this before. When he'd first been shoved into the cell next to her, he had immediately started to tap against the glass separating the two of them. He had called her name and asked if she was alright, what had happened after he'd been taken away from them. And she had answered, but he hadn't heard her. Had continued to bang against the glass, not reacting to what she was doing at all. She had soon realized that he apparently was caged by a one-way mirror. She could see him, she could hear him, but he could neither. She had tried to communicate by tapping on the glass, too, but it hadn't worked. Whatever material these cells were made of, it was different from what they had back on their Enterprise. This seemed to be perfectly isolated, completely sound-proof.

After about an hour he had finally given up, had circled the room twice, tapping at every wall and pressing his ear to each of them, and had then let himself fall onto the bench in the back of his cell. He was still sitting and almost straight at that, but somehow he looked more defeated than she had ever seen him before. When Spock had nearly killed him, a calculating look had gilded the fear in his eyes, when Nero had attacked, determination had been the only thing to be seen on his face and when Pike had been shot, pure anger had been coming off him in waves. But now... Worry was all she could detect on him. She had only ever seen this raw emotion on him when a crewmember was in peril or injured, most of all when Doctor McCoy was the one in question, but even then had it not been like this.

Judging from his reaction to the mirrored glass, it was the complete isolation that caused this strong a reaction. James T. Kirk wasn't someone to be found alone. In fact, it felt as if he was always in company, always around someone, maybe except for when he was sleeping. It dawned on her how much he needed people. People to communicate with. People to look out for, even. Thinking back to their time at the Academy, Nyota could only shake her head at how wrong she'd been about him. She'd always thought he was an irresponsible, obnoxious prat who didn't care for anything but himself and maybe his best friend. Then he had become her Captain and soon she had developed a careful respect for how much more complicated his character truly was. And then she had piece by piece discovered to what length this man was prepared to go to protect those around him, especially those he was responsible for. When that had finally become clear to her, she had assumed it was a one-way thing. He cared for them when they needed him. And of course they would protect him if he needed it, but he never let it come so far. But now it became obvious that it was a two-way street, always had been. He needed them as much as they needed him. Being without his crew, helpless and cut off from all of them, rendered Jim Kirk utterly defeated. Upon realizing that, a strong wave of affection and sympathy washed over her. As little faith as she had had in his ability to be Captain even of a single shuttle let alone the Fleet's most advanced starship only three years ago, as much would she now do to defend him and his position. It really was amazing how strong the reactions were this man provoked in those around him. There was no being indifferent towards Jim Kirk.

For the last two hours, he had been almost motionlessly sitting against the far wall, staring off into nothingness. She would have given a lot for the possibility of communicating with him. Both to ease his distress and her own. She was somehow glad that he apparently didn't know about what this Spock had done to McCoy. It had been horrible to watch. Not only the deliberate, unnecessary use of violence but especially the man exacting it. She knew Spock, probably better than anyone else did, and his actions often seemed extreme, but he would never hurt someone just for the sake of it. Quite the opposite. Corporal punishment without legitimate cause was highly illogical, as he would state. The thought of him made her draw a pained breath. She missed him already and seeing this evil version of him made it that much worse.

It was sometime that evening when an to her unfamiliar Ensign showed up and brought a small tray with food for each of them. There wasn't much on them, only a glass of water and some rice in a bowl, by the looks of it. She didn't move to take it, just let it sit there on the floor. She looked over to Kirk. He ignored his completely. It wasn't that she didn't want to eat or drink, she just wasn't sure it would be healthy to do so. This world's Spock himself had said it. She was of no use to them, so what hindered them from poisoning her? While she was still pondering this, a voice suddenly brought her out of her reverie.

"Nyota?" She looked towards Kirk's cell. Without her noticing had he moved closer until he was leaning against the glass nearest to her. "I..." He paused shortly. "I don't know if you can hear me and I don't know if you even need to hear this, but in case you do: They brought me food so I guess you got some, too. It's fine, you can eat it. They're not trying to poison you."

She was surprised that he had guessed correctly. But then again, when wasn't she surprised by him?

"Spock – this Spock – told me we'll all stay alive because they don't know if they can reverse the process when not all of those who switched places are still available." He sounded bitter now. "Not the best of reasons not to kill someone, but I guess we have to take what we can get, don't we?"

Nyota realised he was still talking although the necessary things were already said and he couldn't know if she was able to listen to him at all. Another wave of compassion towards her Captain hit her. If he risked showing weakness like this, the whole situation must be even harder on him than she had guessed.

Apparently, he, too, noticed what he was doing and suddenly straightened up. "Okay, whatever. Point is, you can eat it." With that, he moved back to his original spot and settled down again. It didn't escape her attention that he himself didn't touch his tray. She wasn't sure if it was because he wasn't hungry or because Doctor McCoy's endless tirades about not eating stuff when he couldn't be entirely sure of the ingredients had finally paid off. She almost smiled at the variety of memories of the older man chastising the younger because he had once again shown an allergic reaction to some impossible combination of vegetables or something. If it wouldn't almost cost the Captain's life on a regular basis, it would be downright funny.

Sighing, she finally got up and fetched her tray. It really was only rice and although it was practically tasteless, she was glad to have something at all to fill her stomach. There was no knowing when she would next be given something.

Time went by and she steadily grew more tired. It must have been around midnight when she finally succumbed to sleep and drifted off into a restless slumber. She woke more than once, and every time her wary eyes fell onto the motionless form of Jim Kirk who was still sitting on the same spot and stared into nothingness.

A loud banging on her cell roused her the next morning. A new guard had appeared to release the one from gamma shift, who bid his farewell by brutally waking her. A mean smile played over the man's face when she reflexively looked at him. He then said something to his relief, too low for her to understand, and left.

The day went by and nothing happened. Kirk alternated between sitting and pacing restlessly but didn't again try to communicate with her. He reminded her of a caged animal.

She didn't know if she was relieved because she was left in peace or if she wished someone, anyone, would come. At least then she could have tried to ask about the others. Her mind kept replaying the moment Doctor McCoy's arm had been broken and how he had swayed on his feet from the pain. She silently prayed that he had been allowed to mend it. Although she highly doubted it. And Pavel... The young Russian had looked terrified when he had been dragged out of the CMO's office. But at least she could be sure they wouldn't severely harm him. They needed him fully functioning if they wanted to get things back to normal as soon as possible.

When alpha shift was over and the guy from last night's beta shift took over, she was already waiting for someone to hopefully bring a tray of food again. She had marvelled at Kirk's ability of staying away from the water and rice until she had remembered what she had heard about his childhood. If he really had been in that colony all those years back, his body probably didn't react in the same way to food deprivation as it normally should anymore. That would certainly explain why she had more than once witnessed Doctor McCoy practically grabbing Kirk's collar and pulling him to the Mess to get some food into him. Again her heart ached for the man she had almost despised only a few years ago.

The door separating the Brig from the corridor opened with a hiss and she expectantly lifted her head. It wasn't the Ensign from the day before but three Lieutenants in red shirts. She knew two of them, Moles and K'Tan, they belonged to Security, so probably the third one did, too. They were nice guys on her Enterprise but after what she had experienced in the last thirty hours, she didn't even hope for it to be the same here.

They walked to her guard and spoke to him. Whatever they were saying needed a moment to get the man's approval, but then he nodded and turned towards her. He entered something into the control panel on the wall of her cell and suddenly it opened. Her confusion only lasted a second. The way the four men were now slowly walking towards her made their intentions pretty obvious.

"Well, well, well", the man she knew as Moles said, "I say we have a little fun with this beauty here. Seize the opportunity." His grin was sickening.

She backed towards the wall bordering on Kirk's cell and lifted her arms in a defensive stance. She was scared and could her heart feel pumping three times as fast as usual, but she wouldn't go down without a fight. She had never been one for the role of damsel in distress. She had always stood her ground, had always defended herself and she wouldn't stop now. If four grown and physically top fit men were to much for her, she could live with it. But she would never surrender without even trying.

"Oh, look at that, she wants to play." That was the unknown man.

"Wants to make it even more fun". K'Tan.

"All the better for us". Moles again. The blonde man ws standing slightly in front of the others, clearly, he was the leader. "Let's see what we've got here." He came nearer and reached out, apparently intending to grab her hair. Instinctively, she slapped away his hand. He raised his eyebrows at her, then turned to his companions. "You see that? She's serious." He laughed and looked back at her. "Okay, you can have that, too, if you want." Like an attacking snake he rushed forwards and grabbed her wrists, still grinning menacingly. Her body switched to auto-pilot. All the lessons in hand to hand combat rushed through her mind and without consciously thinking about it, she reacted.

She violently pulled her left leg up and thrust her foot into the man's midsection. He instantly let go off her and stumbled back, gasping. She obviously had taken all of them by surprise. Neither man laughed anymore. Their faces were now masks of pure hatred, and she knew they wouldn't show her any mercy.

K'Tan charged at her next and tried to punch her in the face, she ducked around him and heard his hand crashing against the wall behind her. He cursed. For a second she was satisfied with herself, then she saw the remaining men in front of her.

"Grab her!" Moles ordered.

She felt strong arms grabbing her from behind. She reached with her arms for her attacker's face and scratched it. He hissed in pain.

At the same time, the other three came nearer. The unknown man was too careless and caught her boot in his groin which provoked the other two to come at her from both sides. She struggled in the arms of her captor, kicked his shins and drew blood from his cheeks. She was aiming for his eyes but couldn't reach them. Although he constantly showered her with swearwords and names now, he didn't show any sign of letting her go just now.

Her guard, the most careful of the four, was to her right but still more than an armlength away from her. He cast a fleeting glance at his companion who was still trying to catch his breath, leaning against the wall. Apparently, she had hit the right spot and with force at that. To her left was Moles. His eyes were dangerously small and he practically sneered.

"This is not what we wanted from you", he snarled. "No, not at all." He took another step closer.

And she spit in his face. It wasn't planned and nothing she had ever done before, but right now, it seemed like the right thing to do.

"That's it!" He was furious now. With one last step he was within reach and finally grabbed her hair. He pulled violently and she screamed. It was the first noise she had made since the men had entered her cell.

"Yeah, that's right", K'Tan said into her ear. "Scream."

She was about to smash her head against his face when a movement at her cell's entrance stopped her. Standing there, face unreadable, was Commander Spock.

* * *

 _A/N: And a cliffhanger once again, I hope you'll forgive me for it ;-)  
_ _One question before you leave: Do you agree with my version of Nyota and especially how she sees Jim? I'm not entirely sure about it...  
_ _And a last annotation: As you noticed I took another liberty with the story's circumstances by indicating that this Jim lived through Tarsus IV, I hope you don't mind that._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Once again thanks to the guest reviewer I couldn't personally respond to!  
Have fun reading! Back to McCoy and his side of the story..._

* * *

The hissing sound of the opening door pulled McCoy out of his trance. He hadn't been sleeping, worry and pain had kept him awake, but his mind had been drifting off so far it had almost been a dream.

"Doctor." He didn't even need to open his eyes to know who was standing in the entrance.

"Spock", he answered and tried to sit up without showing the pain it caused him. The sling he had put his arm into was working, without it the movement would have been excruciating, but even like this it hurt way too much for his taste. He had a hard time not to pant when he had managed to get his legs off the bench and sit up. He didn't want to give the damn Vulcan reason to gloat.

However much he had disliked his own Spock at first, it was nothing compared to his hatred for this one. At least, the pointy-eared bastard, as Jim had once called him, was acting on pure logic. He wasn't cruel, he didn't do favouritism, he just did what was reasonable. And what worked along the rules. This one... Whole other story. And not one McCoy liked in the least.

"What brings you here on this merry morning?", he sarcastically asked the man who was standing a few paces from him. Not far enough away for his liking.

"I fail to see how this is a good morning for you, Doctor, but if you like to call it such, I am inclined to agree." If this had been his Spock, McCoy would have been pretty sure that comment had been deliberate irony, but with this... He looked half angry half expectantly at the man.

"Doesn't answer the question", he stated dryly.

"Indeed, it does not." The Vulcan showed no emotion, there was no telling if McCoy's attitude fazed him in the least. "I am here to make this morning merrier." Irony, definitely.

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that? Will you tell me you found a way to reverse this mess and get us back home again?"

"No. But I will provide you with food and company instead." Now he could have sworn there had been something in Spock's eyes. Had it been cruel anticipation? Glee, even? Why was it so damn hard to read that bastard?

"So now I'm supposed to be thankful?"

"I would suggest so." Spock moved into the room and placed the tray he had been carrying on the otherwise empty desk. "As you are injured, your body is reliant on sufficient nutrition in order to heal properly. So it would indeed be advisable for you to be grateful for the provided food."

McCoy was hard tempted to throw more than just one insult at that sadistic asshole but he bit it back. The man was right, he needed the food, provoking it being taken away again would be foolish. But he needed to let off some steam almost physically. In the end, he huffed angrily and moved to get to the table.

"No, not just yet." Spock's warning made him halt mid-step. "I propose you earn the meal first."

McCoy looked at him, not sure if he was surprised or if he had expected this. The man had first broken his arm, then refused to mend it, then told him he needed food to help the arm, that had been damaged by him in the first place, heal and then withheld said food. If McCoy hadn't been afraid of what his actions might cause the others, he would have thrown himself at the Vulcan right there and then without any consideration of his already fractured bone. And without thinking twice about how much stronger the alien was.

But as it was, he clenched his teeth and tried to ease his stance. He inhaled once through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. He knew Spock could read him like an open book, but he couldn't supress it. He had to do something, anything, to calm himself down at least the tiniest bit.

"So, how do I earn it?" He forced himself to play along the game the Vulcan had started.

"By sharing some information."

"Well then, ask away." McCoy slowly moved back to the bench and sat down again, standing was more exhausting than he liked to admit.

"Since I could not trust the information I desire to be true if I am to rely on your say so, I have decided to use a more direct way of sharing than simple speech." There it was again, the glee flashing in his eyes. This time, McCoy was sure about what he had seen. And whatever was to come, he already knew he wouldn't like it at all.

"That is?", he asked, although almost afraid of the answer.

"I would call it a mind-meld, but I am afraid this will be a bit more unpleasant than an ordinary one." With that, the still standing man came towards him and unceremoniously placed his fingers on McCoy's face.

The feeling was strange and unlike anything McCoy had ever experienced before. And it certainly wasn't pleasant. He could feel the Vulcan's presence at the edge of his mind, at first only lingering there, then brutally forcing entrance into his thoughts. Reflexively, McCoy tried to somehow keep the intruder at bay, get him out again, but it was of no use. The other man was far more experienced, hell he belonged to a species that was supposed to be able to communicate by mind, and he was ruthless. Spock didn't care if he hurt McCoy or damaged something in the process. If this had been a physical attack, McCoy would have squirmed in the stronger man's grip, trying to get out, get away from the pain. But it wasn't. It was mental, in both meanings of the word. So he couldn't do anything but stand by and watch, figuratively speaking, as this before unknown force combed through his memories and knowledge, regardless of the consequences.

At first, it seemed random. Pictures of his time at the academy flashed before McCoy's inner eye and moments of their fights first against Nero and then against that crazy Admiral. Short images of people, so many in such a short succession he didn't even try to identify all of them. Only slowly was he able to make out a pattern. Everything he saw was either in uniform or on a starship. Spock was analysing Starfleet. Everything he seemed to be looking for was apparently linked to the Federation. He wasn't interested in McCoy or some of the others. He only wanted to know about the regime back in their world.

Carefully, McCoy tried to get a sense of the Vulcan's mind. He didn't even attempt to reverse this meld, he knew he didn't stand a chance. He just wanted to not feel as helpless. And after a few tries he actually did manage to get something. What was it? Curiosity, certainly. And... allure? That was strange. But there was something else, too. Disgust. Yeah, well, no surprise there. Of course this Spock would be disgusted by seeing caring, friendly people who actually were nice to one another. McCoy would have snorted if he could. That sudden outburst on his part seemed to draw the Vulcan's attention. A wave of anger hit him. This emotion was obviously directed at him and it hurt physically. The moment Spock had taken over his mind McCoy had lost control over his body, but he could still feel the shock of the mental attack running up and down his nerve cells. It was like being at the receiving end of a taser.

It felt like the pain was raging inside him for ages but it probably were only seconds. Finally, it stopped, and although Spock didn't actually speak to him, his meaning was clear. Stay out of my way and away from me, his presence seemed to say.

After that at best fruitless attempt to even out the battlefield a bit, McCoy didn't try anything again. He let the Vulcan wreak havoc in his mind and endured the pain accompanying it. He actually focused on the physical unpleasantness to escape the feeling of not being in control of his own mind.

An hour after he had started Spock finally drew back and let go off McCoy's face. The doctor couldn't help but sag against the wall behind him. Although Spock had been the one working, he felt like he had spent the last twenty hours thinking about difficult medical problems. His head hurt nearly as much as his arm did and he was completely exhausted.

"That was most fascinating", Spock stated before McCoy had even managed to open his eyes again. "I am inclined to say I am satisfied. For now." The implication was clear. This first time wouldn't be the last. With that, Spock stepped away and left the office, leaving a McCoy behind who felt as weak as he hadn't since his first twenty-four hour shift in a hospital years ago. Even the food didn't seem as appealing as before anymore. It was too far away and both pain and exhaustion made him feel nauseous. Too weak to do anything else, he let himself slide down the wall until he was uncomfortably perched on the bench once again. His eyes still closed, he tried to go to sleep, but same as before, the pain only let him drift off so far before another sting from his arm or head had him back to consciousness again.

The day passed slowly and only in what must have been late afternoon did McCoy manage to get up and slowly walk over to the desk where the tray with food was still waiting for him. It wasn't much, just a bowl with boiled rice and a glass of water. But he was somehow glad about it. He didn't trust his stomach to deal with anything spiced right now.

After finishing McCoy felt slightly better although his mind was still unsettled. He wondered how long it would take to get them back home. Because they would. There was no way the four of them were stuck here forever, there simply couldn't! And he trusted Chekov. Kid was smart. Brilliant, a genius. Plus if this world's Scotty was anything near theirs in sakes of talent, together the two of them would find a way to reverse this mess.

In search for something to occupy himself with now that he was finally capable of doing more than just lying there only half-conscious, he pulled out his tricorder. It was the only thing Spock had left him with. Probably because he couldn't do anything with it but scan his body anyways. And record his log. Ignoring the fact that he was supposed to do it once a day, he had done it a second time yesterday. There had simply happened too much not to keep it up to date. It had cost him the last bit of energy he possessed after he had put his arm in the sling, but it had calmed him. The familiarity of the action had appeased his mind at least a tiny little bit. Aiming for that same effect, McCoy now intended to record the meagre events of today.

As he was about to say the first word, the hissing sound of the opening door startled him for the second time that day. Looking up, he saw Spock – who else – in the doorway, but this time, he wasn't alone. Half hidden behind his taller form, McCoy caught a glimpse of Nyota's dark hair. She had put it up in her trademark ponytail once again and he couldn't help but welcome the familiar sight. He straightened up. Why would Spock bring her here? If they had found a way for the two parties to switch places again, surely McCoy would have been lead to the transporter room rather than Nyota being brought here, right? But before he could think about it any more, Spock stepped into the room and revealed a full view on the woman behind him.

"Doctor, your medical expertise is needed", the Vulcan stated.

"I can see that!", McCoy snapped at him, instantly alarmed and on his feet. He ignored the pain in his arm caused by the sudden movement. "What have you done to her?" His reaction was a bit harsher than necessary and he knew it, but he didn't care. Nyota didn't seem to be severely injured, but her whole stance showed that something had happened to her and that that something hadn't been pleasant. At a closer look her ponytail was deranged and she had her arms tightly folded around her upper body. She hadn't cried, as far as he could tell, but her eyes glistened suspiciously.

McCoy moved around the desk and towards them while Spock dragged Nyota behind.

They met halfway across the room and McCoy lifted his right hand to grab her shoulder. When she looked at him he could see the carefully controlled expression on her face telling him she had a hard time not to break down. Lieutenant Nyota Uhura had always been the strongest woman he knew - she was the hobgoblin's girlfriend for God's sake, strong nerves kinda were in the job description for her – so whatever had unsettled her this much, must have been serious.

"What have you done to her?" McCoy repeated angrily, looking at Spock again.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" His anger turned into aggression. "Sure doesn't look like nothing."

"Maybe I have to clarify for you, Doctor. It was not I who did something." The calmness in the Vulcan's whole demeanour did nothing to pacify McCoy.

"Then who the hell did?"

To his surprise, it was Nyota who answered. "Moles and ...", she faltered for a moment, "K'Tan and another Lieutenant from Security I didn't know. And the guard." Her voice wavered slightly. A sudden, never before felt urge to hug the tough woman overcame McCoy, but the anger was stronger for the moment.

"Four?!" He was almost shouting at Spock now. "There were four guys attacking her?"

"Yes, there were. But as you can clearly see, no serious harm was done."

"No seri..." McCoy shook his head in outrage, almost at a loss for words. "So you think what happened is okay? Because she isn't a bloody mess on the floor? Four guys!", he repeated. "Everything could have happened."

"Theoretically, yes. But obviously no such thing has occurred." Spock didn't let himself be bothered by McCoy's anger in the least, which made it even worse. "She managed to defend herself rather well, one might say. Her attackers certainly are worse off than she is."

"No thanks to you", McCoy growled.

"Yes, thanks to him", Nyota gently interrupted his beginning tirade. McCoy snapped his head back at her, completely surprised that she would defend that maniac. It must have shown in his eyes, because she immediately changed to a more defensive tone. "He showed up before they could do anything worse. I wouldn't have lasted much longer." And there she was back to her scared self. The recollection alone was obviously enough to rob her of the last bit of peace of mind she had left.

Throwing a last furious glance at Spock, McCoy decided she was more important than his anger right now and carefully guided her over to the examination bench he had used as a bed.

"Sit down", he told her in a low voice before moving back to the desk. His tricorder was still lying on top of it where he had mechanically put it when he had first caught sight of Nyota.

Now that the anger wasn't flaring anymore, the pain in his arm came back to the forefront of his mind. It was hard not to let it show but he was determined to keep it to himself. Not for the sake of his pride this time but in order not to unsettle Nyota any further. He was a doctor, so whenever a patient came to him, he put himself last. That was how it worked. Always had and always would. An unwritten law right next to the Hippocratic Oath.

His teeth low-key clenched, he waved the small device over her. All it showed were an elevated heart-rate and light haematomas around her torso. Someone seemed to have grabbed her, probably from behind. The only other sign of a past fight was her ruined hair-do. He wondered if one of those cowardly deranged had actually pulled at her hair.

"How do your ribs feel? Are you having trouble breathing?", McCoy asked, just to make sure.

"No, they're fine", she answered.

"If it is ascertained that no severe injuries were inflicted on Lieutenant Uhura, I will have her taken back to her cell." McCoy almost jumped. He hadn't heard Spock getting near him. The Vulcan had studied the tricorder's readings as well and now moved to get Nyota. Originally standing slightly to McCoy's left, he apparently miscalculated the space and bumped into the doctor. That was, if Spock would ever miscalculate.

McCoy hissed in pain and squeezed his eyes shut. He swayed slightly on his feet and instinctively extended his right arm to get a hold of something that would steady him. The sudden pain of the Vulcan jostling the broken bone had caught him completely off guard. Surprised, he opened his eyes again when someone grabbed his forearm. It was Nyota. She looked at him worriedly. So much for not showing pain. He could have yelled at the Vulcan. Was this just part of his sick game? Did he enjoy hurting him so much? And suddenly it dawned on McCoy. Not only did Spock really seem to revel in the ability of causing him considerable pain, but he used it as a means to hurt the others as well. That was why he had brought Nyota here to let her be checked by McCoy when for one she obviously hadn't been seriously hurt and second one of those harpy-like nurses out there could have done it just as well. It was for the psychological effect it had on both of them. If that was even possible, McCoy started to hate the other man even more than he already did.

Now, his teeth were obviously clenched. He didn't even bother loosening his jaw to speak, as he carefully drew his good arm out of Nyota's grip.

"And how will you ascertain she won't be attacked again?", he asked.

"I will temporarily reprogram her cell to only open on my personal command. That will keep unwanted intruders out."

McCoy huffed. It seemed like a sensible idea, but somehow he didn't believe Spock really did this out of concern for Nyota's welfare. But he wouldn't complain, everything that kept her safe was fine with him for the moment.

The Vulcan strode over to the door, opened it and called in two guards. They took Nyota with them, not allowing another word. McCoy inwardly cursed. He hadn't gotten the chance to ask her about Jim. If they both were in the Brig, she must have seen him, assuming the cells were see-through like the ones back on their Enterprise.

Just as he was about to demand seeing Jim and Chekov, too, Spock turned towards him once more.

"I assume you have questions about the health of the other two members of your party", he stated. Taken by surprise, McCoy just nodded. He was still standing next to the bench and he wanted nothing more than to sit down on it or at least lean against it but he forced himself to keep standing. He wouldn't show any more weakness.

"I will consider answering them – "

"If I do what?", McCoy interrupted him. His patience was spent. And not only for today but probably for the rest of his life.

"Nothing you are not already used to", the other man said and if it hadn't been for the fact that this was Spock, in whatever twisted version, McCoy would have said it sounded like he thoroughly enjoyed the situation. "I propose an exchange of information."

McCoy almost sighed. Of course. That damned bastard wanted into his mind again. It wasn't as if the first time today had already left him completely wasted.

"I don't suppose I can decline that proposal." He didn't phrase it as a question.

"Indeed you can not." And with that, Spock walked towards him once more.

Whatever his original intentions had been, McCoy now sat down on the examination table after all. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep standing once Spock was getting started and falling to the ground wouldn't do him any good.

If anything, it was worse than the first time around. Although Spock didn't take as long and McCoy knew what to expect, the process left him even weaker than this morning and with a headache almost unbearable. But he forced his eyes open and looked at Spock before the man could leave. He didn't have the strength to fight anymore, so he just asked straight away, hoping it wouldn't sound too much like begging.

"So what about Jim and Pavel?"

"They are fine. In the general sense of the word."

"Meaning?"

"Lieutenant Chekov is most tirelessly working on a solution for the problem presenting itself. If tireless is the appropriate word. Working without pause does seem to affect him as he grows increasingly unsteady on his feet. The human body is incredibly fragile if put under constant stress, I find."

McCoy didn't comment on the statement that was clearly meant to get a reaction from him. "And Jim?"

"Your Captain Kirk is physically completely unharmed. Though apparently solitary confinement does not agree with his mental health. He seems to be a bit restless. And he refuses to eat."

McCoy could have groaned. Solitary confinement. There was nothing worse for Jim, and he could only guess that Spock knew that, too.

"I will leave you to yourself now, Doctor", Spock stated and left without another word.

Finally, McCoy allowed himself to once again slide down the wall and lie down. The throbbing in his head drowned out all coherent thoughts for the moment. But he refused to fall into unconsciousness just now. As relieving as that would be, he wanted to do one last thing first. So he focused on his breathing pattern until the pain had become more bearable again. Then, he cautiously pulled the tricorder out of his pocket. Bad enough he had recorded twice yesterday, he wouldn't break the rules again and leave out today. He knew it was stupid to get so hung up on such a small, unimportant thing, but the structure it provided and the habit of having done it regularly for more than a year now gave him a minimum of comfort he didn't want to miss.

Only when he had told the small device what had happened that day did he allow himself to drift away. Not into sleep but at least into momentary oblivion.

* * *

 _A/N: Aaaand there was another liberty I took with the original Log. Just as McCoy reflected, he usually only records once a day. But since that didn't work for my version of the story, I made him do it twice the day they arrived on the ISS Enterprise. Sorry for that!  
Thanks for reading! I hope you weren't disappointed by how the attack on Nyota was solved. And sorry I forced you to first read about McCoy's day, before I came to her...  
Maybe, if you have a few spare seconds, you'll take the time to review. It would certainly brighten my Monday morning, if I wake up to one or two short opinions :-)_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: There are a couple of references to the original Log in this chapter, but even if you don't get them, you'll be able to understand the plot, so... Just don't get confused ;-)  
_ _Thanks to the Guests for taking the time to review!_

* * *

McCoy didn't know if he was awake or asleep when the sound of the opening door startled him, just like it had the day before. He was tired beyond belief. It was even worse than when those damn Talosians had used him as a medical encyclopaedia every night. At least then there hadn't been this constant pain. The splitting headache from last night had faded to a dull and bearable throbbing, but the excruciating pain in his arm made his eyes water. The thought of how easy it would have been for the people here to splint it securely or at least give him some pain medication was frustrating. And he didn't even let himself think about osteo-regenerators.

He slowly sat up, trying to be as careful as possible, but flinched in pain anyways. When he was upright again, he looked at the First Officer who was standing in the doorway, just as he had expected.

"Here to have fun with me again, Spock?" McCoy wasn't sure if taunting the man was the best idea in his current position, but it made him feel better. And the Vulcan was almost oblivious to sass anyways.

"I am not sure as to where you found fun in our interactions the day prior", he stated in that typical air of his. "But I am here to continue our most enlightening conversation."

McCoy involuntarily groaned. More mind-reading. Guess the relief in sakes of migraines wouldn't last much longer.

Spock walked over to him, a by now well-known expression on his face. McCoy was getting better at reading this evil reflection of the alien he was used to and he identified the minimalistic countenance as glee. Pleasant anticipation, if he wasn't mistaken. A shudder ran down his spine. He didn't want to show any signs of how uncomfortable he felt, but he couldn't hide the shiver. Whatever this Spock liked, he was sure he himself wouldn't share the elation over it.

"I am curious as to how well your sister takes your sudden replacement." The statement was so unforeseen and unexplained that McCoy didn't even know what to answer. Obviously, the Vulcan intended to hurt him with it, but he couldn't see how. In the end, he just said the first thing that came to his mind.

"I'm an only child." That earned him a raised left eyebrow.

"Fascinating." For a moment, this Spock resembled the one McCoy knew so much, he had to blink twice to make sure the ridiculous goatee was still there and that he was indeed still in an alternate universe.

"May I enquire as to why exactly the USS Enterprise was orbiting Cerberus?"

McCoy was taken aback by the sudden politeness. Since when did that sadist bother asking? Obviously, his thoughts showed on his face and Spock's features hardened even more.

"I merely intended to give you the opportunity of answering in a to you more common and I dare say pleasant way. Of course, I will not hesitate to get the information I want forcefully, if needed."

And there it was gone again...

"Bastard", McCoy muttered under his breath, knowing full well that Spock's superior hearing would pick it up anyways, but not caring. Which didn't mean he wanted him in his brain again, so he answered quickly, before the man could change his mind.

"We were there to stop the epidemic that had broken out amongst the students", he said. The mild interest on the Vulcan's face seemed to express that this was not what he had come here for so McCoy asked. "I guess Cerberus hosts a boarding school in this universe as well?"

"Indeed it does."

"So why were you here if not to assist them?" A horrible thought crossed his mind. They hadn't come to destroy the planet or something, had they? He didn't know to what length people in his universe would go to serve their own purposes, but slowly he started to suspect that mass murder on children could very well be a possibility.

A vile expression took over the Vulcan's face. Obviously he didn't appreciate the curiosity.

"I do not think that is of your concern, Doctor", the man stated. McCoy had a hard time not to flinch away from him.

"No, I guess not." He barely managed to bite back the sarcastic 'Sorry I ever asked' that threatened to follow the comment. Once the idea of what could have been the ISS Enterprise's reason to be here had presented itself, it was hard to get it out of his mind again.

"Which disease had broken out?" Still confused by the Vulcan's almost blatant curiosity, McCoy answered the question which was immediately followed by the next one and then by another. For more than an hour they got on like this. Spock asked something, McCoy answered and Spock demanded more information. Although concentrating got harder with every minute, McCoy forced himself to stay focused. If this was the way to keep that man out of his mind, he would do whatever was necessary.

After a while he managed to find a pattern. Every few questions, the Vulcan's eyebrows would twitch the tiniest bit. McCoy guessed that was him showing surprise whenever he got an answer that differed from what he was used to from this universe. Unlike the day before, Spock now searched for personal information as well, not only Star Fleet history. And while McCoy wasn't exactly comfortable sharing it, he told himself it probably wouldn't matter what the Vulcan knew. They both wanted to switch the four people back to their own universes, so once they were gone, this Spock couldn't do them any harm anymore. And if the bastard found anything he could use against one of their counterparts, McCoy didn't care too much.

When he was just about to answer the what felt like two hundredth question, the intercom beeped and a voice demanded Spock's presence on the bridge.

Relieved, McCoy lay down again as soon as the door closed behind his captor. Although this hadn't been as exhausting as the mental interrogation the day before, he was completely spent. He hoped to finally find some sleep but knew it probably wouldn't come.

In his estimation it was barely two hours before Spock returned. He had a yeoman with him who placed a tray of food on the desk before being sent out again.

McCoy had barely managed to sit up when the Vulcan had already positioned himself in front of the bench and started asking again. McCoy sighed in defeat and started answering.

This time, Spock had questions about McCoy's work, what kind of illnesses and injuries he had to deal with the most and for what he usually had the Captain, Spock and the rest of the command crew to attend for. McCoy told him about explosions in engineering, STDs after shore leave, accidents happening to landing parties and the ridiculous regularity of Jim having an anaphylactic shock. He could hear the resignation in his own voice at the last part. A part Spock seemed especially interested in.

McCoy didn't like talking about it to the Vulcan. But what choice did he have but to tell? He was too tired to fabricate believable lies and even if he tried, he was sure he would immediately be called on them. So he laid bare everything he knew with an increasingly sinking feeling in his stomach.

This time, the visit was shorter and when Spock left, the Vulcan commented that he would advise McCoy to eat the offered food.

He sat on the bench, his gaze alternating between the closed door and the desk on top of which the tray was waiting for him. He didn't want to eat. He wasn't hungry. Pain and tiredness eradicated pretty much every need other than sleep and oblivion. But just as the day before he knew, the Vulcan was right. Not eating wouldn't do him any good. Hell, it was the thing he probably had to tell Jim the most. Eating regularly and healthy was essential for physical strength.

This way motivating himself McCoy slowly got up. The world started spinning slightly and he had to wait a moment before he could safely walk over to the table. He heavily sat down in the chair behind it and looked at the food in front of him. Rice and water, again. He flinched and began to eat.

While he carefully chewed his thoughts circled on his conversation with Spock. He couldn't shake the feeling that all the information about Jim's allergies wouldn't be brought to good use but quite the opposite. He tried to tell himself that he didn't care what happened to the folks here as soon as he, Jim, Nyota and Pavel were gone again, and probably that was true, too. But the part of him that had once passionately sworn the Hippocratic oath refused to shut up. He couldn't bear the thought that his medical knowledge would be used to harm another human being, no matter how evil that being may be.

When he had half finished the rice and drunken the water, McCoy finally gave in. He sighed in resignation and got up, more careful this time, and made his way over to the door. He knew he couldn't open it, but all he needed was to get the attention of someone on the other side anyways.

Using his right hand he started banging against the metal. The tremors sent through his body by the impact made him grit his teeth. It was hard no to cry out in pain.

It took a minute or two but finally the door opened. In the frame stood none other than his Head Nurse, Christine Chapel. He almost groaned. Why couldn't it have been someone other, preferably one he didn't know at all or at least not as well as her?

"What do you want?", she asked, arms crossed and an unrelenting expression on her face.

"A PADD", he answered.

"A PADD, of course." She snorted sarcastically. "As if we'd give one to you. Why should we?"

"Because I want to help your McCoy protect your Captain Kirk."

The questioningly raised eyebrow reminded him of Spock. "Do you really?" Still the unbelieving tone.

"Yes, really", he said exasperated. "Spock made me tell him about Kirk's weaknesses and I'm not entirely sure that was to the Captain's benefit."

"Why would you care?", she asked coldly.

"Because I have principles", he answered heatedly. "A doctor's knowledge shouldn't be used against patients. Even if they are complete assholes." Because how could this Kirk not be? Even his Jim was one every once in a while and as this universe seemingly brought out all the worst sides of people, he didn't even want to imagine how bad this Kirk was.

"And you don't trust Spock but me? Even more stupid than you look, it seems."

McCoy ignored the insult. "I don't trust you." He indicated his arms. "I trust good people and you're obviously anything but an angel." Although he had clearly not meant that in a good way, she seemed to take the comment as a compliment. What was wrong with these people?

"But what I do trust is that you're loyal to your McCoy. However twisted a version of me he might be, I'm sure he wouldn't work with a bunch of nurses he'd suspect would stab him in the back at the first opportunity. And if he's anything like me, he'd do whatever it takes to protect that lunatic calling himself James T. Kirk. Ergo, if you're loyal to him, you'd rather help Kirk than Spock. Am I right?" He finished his tirade almost breathless. Holding himself upright was becoming really hard and if he hadn't been so determined not to show any weakness, he'd have leaned against the doorframe.

Chapel looked at him almost approvingly. "Guess you're right. So what exactly do you want that PADD for?"

"To leave this McCoy a list of all the allergies my Jim Kirk has and that I told Spock about."

He got a slow nod for that.

"Alright, I'll get you one. But Nurse Bealy will supervise your use of it."

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Whatever. But maybe you should tell her not to tell Spock about this." Chapel just looked at him like he had the intelligence of a flour worm. Apparently that warning had been unnecessary.

Five minutes later he found himself sitting at the desk again, a PADD in front of and an unfamiliar nurse hovering behind him. It took him a while to remember every substance and every weird combination of foods Jim had proven to be allergic to and even longer to write them all down one-handedly. The list really was ridiculously long. He couldn't help but shake his head at the physical constitution of his best friend. A healthy, strong and in the women's eyes good looking man who could take a beating like no one else he'd ever met, but give him a carrot and a vaccine against Tellarian smallpox within twenty-four hours and he stopped breathing. Apparently there really was something like poetic justice when it came to genetics.

"There you go", he said tiredly and handed the device to the young woman looking over his shoulder. The nurse took it and moved towards the door without a word.

McCoy sat there, looking after her, and felt himself slowly drift off. He tried to stay concentrated, but his mind kept getting fuzzy. He was used to long periods without real sleep but it seemed he had reached his limits. He vaguely thought he should probably get up and lie down again, but the few steps from the desk to the bench all of a sudden looked miles long. Completely exhausted, he let his head sink down until it met the tabletop. He told himself he'd only stay this way for a few minutes, just until he could muster the strength to stand up and walk over to his surrogate bed.

He didn't fall asleep, of course not, how could he, but he felt his mind losing its focus and wander who knew where.

The next thing he knew was a harsh voice calling him, pulling him out of his trance. He didn't know how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been much. He didn't feel the tiniest bit rested. The opposite, in fact. The awkward position he had been in made his back hurt and added to the overall discomfort he was already in.

"Doctor McCoy." It was that damn Vulcan again. Who else. He peeled his head off the table and lifted it until he could see the man in front of him. Spock was standing there, hands behind his back, impression unreadable.

"Yeah?" It was all he could manage.

"There are questions left for you to answer."

McCoy just sighed and resigned to his fate. He barely knew what Spock was asking him, his brain had switched to auto pilot and answered automatically. After a while he could feel his head clear up a bit as he woke more and more.

By the time Spock was finished, McCoy felt like he had told him everything he had ever possessed in sakes of general knowledge. Federation history, organisational structures of Star Fleet and in addition all kinds of things about the staff of the Enterprise.

It almost hurt to think about his crewmates. He wasn't sentimental, but with every hour alone in this damn office he missed his friends and colleagues a bit more. If he at least could have stayed with the other three while they were trapped here...

When Spock was already leaving, McCoy called after him. "How are Jim, Nyota and Pavel?"

The Vulcan turned around and faced him again. "They are reasonably well." McCoy grit his teeth. Reasonably well, his ass. He could imagine what that meant. Nyota was still scared half to death, Pavel was working at the edge of breaking down due to exhaustion and Jim was probably going up his mental walls, if he was still cut off from the rest of them.

"Let me see Jim", McCoy suddenly demanded. He knew it would be in vain, but he needed to at least try.

"I see no reason for why I should do that", the Vulcan impassively said.

"Certainly not because you have a heart", McCoy muttered, frustrated.

"I assure you I do possess such organ for otherwise I would not be viable." One of the eyebrows was up again, apparently questioning McCoy's ability to act as CMO, any medical personnel really, if he didn't even know having a heart was vital.

"Ugh, forget it." McCoy waved his hand in an exasperated gesture.

"I cannot do that as you know", Spock said. McCoy looked at him. The man had to be kidding him! He then remembered how Nyota always told him Spock understood more idioms than he let on and he guessed, the Vulcan just enjoyed robbing him of his last nerve. As far as the emotionless bastard was able to enjoy anything. And he was succeeding.

"I give up", he said and slowly stood up, determined to make it over to the bench as long as he was still able to move. Spock cast him an indecipherable glance and finally left the room, much to McCoy's relief. He was so sick of that man.

He lay down again and pulled out his tricorder. May as well use the opportunity to keep up his log now. He recorded a few lines and put the device back into his pocket.

He wanted to sleep so badly but knew he couldn't. Even if his mind hadn't been filled with worry for the others and the desperate wish to get back to his own universe again, his arm wouldn't let him. When it had first been broken, McCoy had thought it couldn't get worse, but apparently, it could. It didn't matter how he positioned himself now, the stabbing pain was too intense to allow sleep.

He focused on his breathing pattern to block out the sensation that was on the forefront of his mind now that all distractions were gone. In and out. In and out. It reminded him of the meditation exercises he had done with his Spock.

He suddenly opened his eyes and would have slapped himself if he had still had the energy left for it. Meditation. Of course. He didn't know why it had taken him so long to think of it. If sleep was out of the question because the pain was too intense, a means to clear his mind and focus on something else was the ideal alternative.

He knew he was far from being an expert on the matter, but he was confident that with patience he would manage something at least similar to the trance Spock could put himself into to rest. Just to calm himself down enough to maybe drift off into sleep after all.

He closed his eyes again and recalled the lessons the Vulcan had given him what felt like a lifetime ago.

* * *

 _A/N: I know, I know, nothing really happening apart from a bit of torture to our favourite CMO. Poor McCoy. But it wasn't my fault, I didn't think of all this. At least not in general. So I have to defend myself in both regards :-)  
_ _Next chapter will have a little more in it, promise!  
_ _See you on Sunday (if everything goes according to plan) - and maybe in the meantime you'll find a moment to review. I'd appreciate it!_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Admittedly it's rather late (at least where I live), but it's still Sunday. Ouf!  
Thanks to the Guest reviewer!  
Have fun reading!_

* * *

Another morning, another hiss from the door, another visit from the hated Vulcan. Being half-conscious, getting woken by the hydraulic sound and enduring constant pain. McCoy was almost getting used to it. But he noticed he was feeling decidedly more rested than the previous days. Sure, he was still tired and more than just sore, but he didn't feel like he had gone a month without sleep anymore. The meditation had done a remarkable job. He made a note to himself to thank his Spock for the lessons once they were back. And once he could casually talk to him again. It wasn't fair and he knew it, but he didn't think he would be comfortable around any Vulcan for a while. Especially not this half one.

"There is a task for you to perform", Spock said without preamble.

McCoy ran his right hand across his face, wiping the remains of sleep away, and carefully sat up. It didn't hurt quite as much as the day before. "And what would that be?", he asked.

"Assisting in the efforts of reversing the process that led to you being here."

McCoy looked at him, almost exasperated. "You do realize that I have no idea about transporters or wormholes or tears in the fabric of the universe at all, don't you?"

"We believe the exchange was caused by an interdimensional weakness", Spock stated. "But if you insist on simplifying the matter, I assume 'a tear in the fabric of the universe' is an apt description."

"Whatever." McCoy rolled his eyes. The effect of finally getting some sleep had an astounding effect on his morale. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm a doctor, not an engineer."

"Seeing that we need you as such that is no hindrance."

Now, McCoy was honestly surprised. "How can a doctor help you with that... tear?" He knew it was childish, but teasing Spock about his need for correct terms and numbers had been a highlight of his day ever since he had first set foot on the Enterprise. He couldn't help himself but continue the tradition. The fact that he felt better rather than worse for once made him almost lightheaded.

"You will see", the Vulcan just said and moved to the side, indicating that McCoy should get up and leave the room.

McCoy wasn't sure what to make of it. The prospect of getting out of his cell and actually being able to help with their return was appealing, but he couldn't see how he should be able to help.

Unless... If something had gone wrong and either Pavel or this world's Montgomery Scott were injured, he was the highest trained medical officer aboard and therefore the best to help. It was the only explanation he could come up with while he carefully stood and walked towards the door. He just hoped it wasn't the young Russian needing his assistance.

"So, where are you taking me?", he asked Spock while crossing through the Medbay. It was still as disconcerting as when he had first seen it. How was anyone supposed to get better in an environment that looked more like a torture chamber than a hospital room? Not to mention the staff, all of them seemingly ready to hypo anyone to death who made so much as a wrong noise.

The Vulcan was half a step ahead of him. "The transporter room." In passing he beckoned for one of the nurses to follow them. It was a middle-aged, hard-looking woman McCoy didn't recognize, for which he was grateful.

"What for?", he asked, meaning the nurse as well as where they were headed.

Spock looked at him, his expression undecipherable. "To speed up the working process." He didn't clarify if he meant the destination or the added company.

McCoy didn't know what to say to that. At least, it didn't sound like anyone was injured. He forced himself to stop thinking about possibilities and focused on his surroundings instead.

Spock led them through the oddly familiar but still so very foreign corridors. There were more officers standing guard at regular intervals than when he had first come through here with Jim and the others. Each of them saluted when they passed in this harsh looking way. It reminded him of a documentary about the ancient Third Reich he had once seen. Spock returned the greeting every time but McCoy didn't bother. He couldn't see what the woman did since she was walking behind him.

The walls were marked with that symbol he had seen before, the earth on a dagger. Every time they came across one of those, he felt almost sick. The imagery was disturbing.

After a few minutes they reached the door to the transporter room and the feeling of dread McCoy had tried to suppress so far returned full force. He was close to actually praying that Pavel was alright.

Spock touched the panel next to the door and it opened. He entered, McCoy barely half a step behind him, the nurse following still wordlessly.

The room was what could almost be described as a mess. The usually clean floor was practically littered with tools and materials and the console sported a few screens and levers he had not seen on it before. McCoy's eyes searched the room for the familiar sight of short curls and finally found them behind the glass panel separating the transporter platform from the room's entrance.

The young Russian looked horrible. At the first glance he seemed to be uninjured but he had shadows beneath his eyes that were the shade of deep space and he was slightly swaying on the spot. At the sound of the door he looked up, an expression on his face that turned from bone-tired to downright frightened when he caught sight of Spock.

Not caring about whether he was allowed to do so or not, McCoy instantly marched over to him. He glared at Spock while he put a hand on his comrade's shoulder.

"Exactly how much sleep did you allow him to get?" He could hear the fury in his own voice. It was the tone he usually reserved for crew members who had done something extraordinarily stupid that had endangered not only themselves but others as well.

"Approximately eight hours and twenty minutes", Spock stated calmly, not caring about the harsh accusation. McCoy felt Pavel twitch slightly under his hand.

He couldn't help himself but slightly recoil in surprise. Over eight hours were more than enough. Probably more than Pavel had ever slept in one go since he had started on the Academy. He looked from Spock to Pavel, who let his head hang and steadied himself with a hand pressed against the glass next to him.

"Een total", the young man said in a low voice.

"In ...?!" McCoy felt fury rising within him. Bad enough if the officers he was in medical charge of kept pushing themselves to their limits and beyond, he himself did it fairly often, but this... The combination of sleep deprivation this severe, sky-rocketing stress-levels and the constant work was equal to torture. "Are you out of your mind?" He was practically shouting at the Vulcan. "You grant him eight hours of sleep in four days and make him work the rest of the time? How is he supposed to even stay on his feet?" He would have punched the unfeeling bastard in the face if it had done any good. And even if not he might have, were he not so afraid the unsteady Russian would tip over if he let go of him.

"That is the reason I brought you here, Doctor McCoy."

"So I could do what? Tell you he needs some decent food and a lot of sleep?"

"To make him 'stay on his feet', as you put it."

"No!" McCoy was close to taking an involuntary step back in disgust. "I will not do that!" The Vulcan's meaning was now clear to him.

"If you refuse to do it, I will order Nurse Brah'le to complete the task." Again, McCoy felt Pavel twitch under his hand.

"You want me to give him stimulants when he hasn't slept in days? That's madness! It could be too much for his system and send him into cardiac arrest."

"An implausible outturn of events." Spock wasn't fazed in the least. "Lieutenant Chekov is a young man in perfect health, his body will be able to bear it."

"So you have a medical degree now, to decide that?", McCoy snapped.

Spock ignored the comment and turned to the woman still standing behind him instead. "Nurse Brah'le", he said and made a short gesture towards Pavel.

She nodded and moved over to them.

McCoy instinctively positioned himself in front of the younger man, finally loosening his grip on his shoulder. There was no way this monster would come anywhere near Pavel if he had any say in it. He was highly reluctant to inject the Russian with any stimulant, he had never believed in using chemical substances when a few hours of rest could have done the trick far better. But he knew that when this Spock wanted it, there was no way around it. And if it was either him treating Pavel or one of the beasts from this universe, he was well prepared to throw his ideals over board and do it himself.

If looks could kill, his would have made short shrift of the Half-Vulcan.

"I'll do it", he snapped. In return, he got one raised eyebrow from Spock which's position he didn't bother to decipher. "But I'll need a MedKit. You took mine, if I need remind you."

Another gesture from Spock and the nurse handed McCoy the small item.

He took it and turned to Pavel. Only now did he realise that this world's Mr Scott wasn't present. He decided not to waste another thought on it and just be glad he didn't have to endure another familiar face with all the wrong brains behind it.

"Sit down", he told the by now slightly shaking Russian. The fact that the usually so talkative young man didn't say a word was more evidence than McCoy needed of how tired and frightened he was.

Pavel let himself slide down on the wall until he was sitting with his back leaning against it. McCoy followed him down carefully. When he was working he always forgot about his own needs, including pain, but his left arm was too tender to ignore it.

Pavel sat there with his eyes closed, already drifting off to sleep, while McCoy fought to open the MedKit and take the hypo out. It was a painstakingly slow process with only one hand, and loading the spray with the right substance proved to be almost impossible. He could practically feel the Vulcan's impatient eyes on his back. By the time he was done, Pavel was breathing evenly. The few minutes of just sitting down had been enough to drag him into sleep, no matter how threatening the situation.

McCoy looked at Spock once more. "You bastard", he said, before turning back to Pavel and rousing him gently.

"I'm sorry, Pavel", he said. He knew that didn't make it any better but he felt it necessary. If only to clear his own conscience.

He administered the hypospray gingerly. Whatever Jim said, he was very well able to be careful with those. He just didn't care to be when his patients had brought the mess they were in over themselves. As was rather often the case with that lunatic Captain he called his best friend.

When he was done, he dropped the spray and put his fingertip on Pavel's wrist, feeling for his pulse. If the stimulants were too much for his body he wanted to know about it immediately. But the young man's heartbeat was steady, getting a bit stronger as the seconds passed. No irregularities or pauses. He exhaled in relief. Spock had been right, the probability of the stimulant backfiring had been fairly low, but after all McCoy had seen and been through in the last few days, hell, in the last few years, he didn't trust in luck anymore. Things usually had a tendency to go south at every corner.

As soon as he was sure that Pavel was alright, he slowly stood again, leaving the MedKit on the ground. Should the nurse pick it up, he had done enough already.

"Now give him a minute until the drug takes full effect", he said curtly to Spock. "And let him get some sleep once it wears off, for God's sake!"

Spock came closer as if to threaten McCoy, who refused to let himself be intimidated.

"I think I waited long enough", Spock said and cast a glance down at Pavel who looked fully alert now, energetic even. All of a sudden, without any warning, Spock lashed out and delivered a blow to McCoy's head that betrayed his Vulcan heritage. The force of the impact sent him reeling to the floor while stars exploded before his eyes.

"Ayy", he heard Chekov shout in outrage before he hit the ground, left arm first. The pain from the fractured bone was strong enough to make him lose consciousness almost instantly.

A string of Russian swear words and a heartfelt "Soon, ve vill be home!" were the last things he perceived at the edge of his mind before the darkness encased him completely.

It was hours later that McCoy was first able to think clearly again. He vaguely remembered waking on the floor of the transporter room, not knowing if seconds or minutes had passed and not really caring either. Pavel had been a few steps away, working, and constantly murmuring in Russian. Even though he had only heard it through a haze and didn't know a single word of the language, he was sure it had been nothing nice. Spock had dragged him to his feet and had ordered him to move. Somehow McCoy had made it back to the office that acted as his prison. He didn't know how. His whole body had hurt and he hadn't been sure if the nausea threating to overwhelm him had been due to the excruciating pain from his arm or a possible concussion. Upon reaching the examination table he had come to know as his bed, he had simply collapsed on it. Only barely had he noticed how Spock had made the nurse still accompanying them remove the sling, scan his arm and once again reset his humerus. The agony of bone scraping against bone had been enough to once again make him lose consciousness.

When he was finally lucid again, his first impulse was to get up, bang at the door as long as was necessary to get the damn Vulcan here and then strangle him. Slowly. He was not exactly the eye-for-an-eye type, but what this Spock was deliberately doing to all of them was more than he could tolerate. Only his poor physical state kept him peacefully lying down. Whatever good last night's rest had done him, Spock's attack and the subsequent fall had reversed it completely.

After about an hour of calming himself down and gathering courage, he clenched his teeth, sat up and fit the sling back onto his arm and shoulder. The nurse had left it laying next to him, not caring to put it back on while he was unconscious anyway. He managed not to cry out in pain, a fact he was morbidly proud of.

The rest of the day passed remarkably uneventful. McCoy didn't even get another visit from the Vulcan. Only the unknown Yeoman with the usual tray of food entered the room some time in the afternoon and left again without a word.

McCoy wasn't sure if he was glad he was being left alone or not. Not that he was keen on the Vulcan's company, far from it, but it passed the time. And he knew when Spock was with him, he couldn't simultaneously hurt one of the others. Because he was sure that the bastard had done exactly that at least to Pavel. The young Russian had twitched nervously every time Spock had moved or said something around him. And though even under normal circumstances every now and then the boy's real age showed, McCoy had never before seen him act so much like a frightened child. It was more than just mere intimidation, it was fear.

It pained him not to be able to do anything to protect the others. It began to dawn on him why Jim tended to do reckless things in order to keep his crew from harm at any price. Right now McCoy would have done anything, no matter what it cost him, to help the others. He promised himself he would never again pester Jim about it, very well knowing that he would break that promise at the very first opportunity.

After finishing his meagre supper he recorded the day's events, trying not to give too much way to his anger. He kept reminding himself of what Pavel had said. Soon, we will be home. McCoy trusted him. If the young man set his mind onto something, he was sure to make the impossible possible to get it done. So if he said the problem would soon be solved, even if it was spoken in anger, McCoy believed it was a realistic assessment.

This way reassuring himself he lay back down, careful not to disturb his arm, and started the meditation exercises.

* * *

 _A/N: Pavel... Long time, no see! :-) I thought his exclamation when McCoy got hit sounded a bit ... weird, awkward, I don't know ... but I had no choice but to bring something of the sort in, the Log demanded it, so...  
_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thanks to the guest reviewer!_

* * *

Guessing the time was hard when there was neither daylight nor a clock around, but judging from the fact that McCoy woke of his own accord and felt fairly rested, it was probably somewhere in the middle of Alpha shift. In other words: too late. Where the hell was the damn Vulcan to ruin his already horrible morning?

Hours passed and nothing happened. McCoy felt his uneasiness grow with every minute and caught himself fidgeting with the hem of his shirt more than once. If he only knew if this was a bad sign or a good sign. Meant the lack of communication that considerable progress had been made or that something had gone wrong that needed to be dealt with by the man in charge? Although he severely hoped for the first option, he had long ago given up on believing that anything ever went according to plan aboard the Enterprise. Any Enterprise. And usually not only aboard it but around it as well.

It must have been around lunch time when finally the door opened, startling McCoy out of his worrying. By then he had a good idea of what the last few days must have been like for Jim, cut off from everything, not knowing what was going on. He was almost glad for the unfriendly attention he had gotten, at least like that he had come to see Nyota and Pavel.

Spock stood in the doorway, looking at him. "Communication with your dimension has been established and both sides are prepared to perform the exchange."

McCoy couldn't read anything in the Vulcan's face, but he suspected that he was glad everything was going back to normal. Sometimes, the man reminded him of someone suffering from autism, with his obsessive need for everything to stay in perfect order. He himself was delighted to hear it, at any rate.

"No need to wait here any longer, then", he said and stood up, not caring about the raised eyebrow that got him.

Spock refrained from answering and just marched out the door, not waiting for McCoy to follow him. And there was no need to, either. The sheer relief made McCoy forget how much he hurt and he hurried after Spock immediately.

Walking down the hallways this time he didn't care about saluting guards or symbols on the walls, his mind was fixed on the prospect of getting back. Home.

He was startled by his own feelings. Although he had been on the Enterprise for years now, he hadn't exactly considered it home. Home had been on earth, with steady ground beneath his feet and a natural atmosphere rather than artificial gravity and a ventilation system. But somehow the last few days had made him realise that the starship he had so reluctantly first set foot on back in the day, had come to be more than just a place to sleep and work. He lived there. All his friends were there, the crew was his family and keeping them healthy was his purpose in life. In every way that mattered, the USS Enterprise had become his home.

Only a few steps from the door to the transporter room they met with Nyota and her guard. Although she obviously was sleep deprived and hadn't eaten too much these last few days, she looked decidedly better than when he had last seen her. Her hair was still deranged, but she had at least tried to tie it back up and the hopeful look in her eyes almost covered for the dark shadows beneath them. He took that as a sign that she hadn't been attacked again, something he had feared the whole time.

She smiled at McCoy, obviously just as glad as he was to finally get over with this nightmare. The Lieutenant behind her noticed it and roughly shoved her through the door, apparently not tolerating any positive emotion within a prisoner.

McCoy opened his mouth to protest against the unnecessary harsh treatment but instantly felt a hand threateningly lying on his left shoulder. Spock. He raised his right arm in a surrendering gesture. No need to provoke any more pain. Not this close to the end of the intermezzo. The hand stayed there but applied no pressure and didn't move down.

He entered the room just behind Nyota's guard to find Mr Scott at the console and Pavel next to the transporter platform. The young Russian's cheeks were slightly flushed in the unhealthy way of someone running on stimulants, his whole appearance even more dishevelled than the day before. It was obvious that he hadn't ceased working for a minute since McCoy had left him. Or had been dragged away from him, more like.

Pavel looked up, registering McCoy and Nyota. "Vhere ees ze Cjaptain?", he asked boldly.

"To be brought in", Spock answered curtly and fell into silence.

The three looked at one another, faintly smiling, but not daring to speak. Neither wanted anything else to happen but being sent back to their universe.

About two minutes later, Jim was brought in, a hood over his head and flanked by two burly security officers, each holding one of his arms. His stance made it pretty clear he was far from being happy with the arrangement but at least uninjured.

"Cjaptain!", Pavel exclaimed delighted. McCoy looked at him in surprise. The second outburst in such a short time, unusual. Remembering how frightened and subdued the young man had been yesterday before the injection and how he had cursed when McCoy had been knocked out, there was but one conclusion. He noted that the synthesized adrenaline in the stimulant obviously had side effects on Pavel. He got brave to the point of recklessness when being injected with it. McCoy would have to tell Scotty never to let Pavel near the engineering deck when he was on this kind of medication. The consequences could be serious.

"Chekov?", Jim asked, his voice slightly muffled by the hood.

"Yyeas, Cjaptain." The Russian was broadly grinning now.

McCoy decided to step in. "Nyota and I are here, too, Jim. They tell us we're about to be sent back."

"Glad to hear it", his friend answered. McCoy could hear the exhaustion in his voice and the frustration about the whole situation. Although he would have preferred to see Jim's face so he could see if anything was wrong, he knew it probably was for the better like this. If they couldn't see him it meant he couldn't see them either. A good thing, in their state. Even if Pavel and Nyota looked reasonably well, it was obvious they hadn't been treated with kid's gloves. And about himself... He already knew Jim was going to be furious once he found out about his arm. Better if he only got to know it when they were back and he couldn't attempt to enact revenge on a ruthless Half-Vulcan who not only was twice as strong as him but had the unnerving habit of nerve-pinching people, too.

During their short exchange, Spock had left McCoy and walked over to the consoles. He looked at Mr Scott for confirmation and then pressed a button.

"Commander Spock of the ISS Enterprise to the USS Enterprise. Come in."

A short pause followed, then: "Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise here. Are you prepared for the transfer of our crew?"

It was disconcerting, hearing two identical voices talking to each other. And yet, there was a distinct difference between them. McCoy would never have thought it possible, but their Spock actually sounded nice and compassionate in comparison to this one. Never again would he think of the hobgoblin as cold, he was practically a glowing fireplace next to his counterpart.

"We are prepared. I suggest that we synchronize our actions. Will you be able to come to full power in two minutes time?" Two minutes. McCoy practically started counting down the seconds.

"We are able to do so."

"Very well. Position our crew on the same pads that they were on when they arrived in your universe and beam them down to the planet's surface. We will mark the time and then go to full power in 120 seconds. 60 seconds following that, we will both activate our transporter beams to bring the crew back aboard. If our calculations are correct, we will both have our original crew members back at that time. We will communicate one final time to insure the transfer has gone as expected and then cut power. Agreed?"

"Agreed. We will transport your personnel to the surface five minutes from now."

So much for two minutes. But McCoy wouldn't complain. It was still in the very foreseeable future.

When the communication was over, Spock motioned for the security officers and the three man moved to position them on the transporter pads. Before either of them could reach him, McCoy walked over there on is own. He wouldn't let any of them near him as long as he could help it.

When they all stood where they were meant to, McCoy looked at Spock. Normally, Jim was the one for snarky comments, but being hooded clearly made it difficult to direct anything at anybody, so McCoy took over from him.

"I'd say farewell, but honestly, I wouldn't mean it. Go to hell." Spock raised an eyebrow at him but didn't grace the statement with an answer.

Meanwhile, Mr Scott looked at Pavel. "I' was surprisingly effective workin' with ya, laddie", he said.

Taking the unexpected compliment as such, Pavel started to glow even more than he already did. McCoy was amazed. Apparently, no one was able to not like the young man, not even an evil version of the already occasionally slightly sour Montgomery Scott.

"Prepare for transport", Spock interrupted the conversation before Pavel could answer and beckoned for Mr Scott to work the consoles.

Bright light encased them and seconds later, the four stood on the planet's surface. For a moment, neither of them moved, too relieved that they had made it down from that horrible ship. Although the trickiest part was still to come, McCoy didn't allow himself to ever consider the possibility that something could go wrong. Two versions of Spock plus at least one Scotty and one Pavel had been working on a way to reverse the exchange. There simply was no way they had made any mistakes.

After a few seconds, Jim got over the surprise and ripped the hood from his head, blinking furiously at the bright daylight they found themselves in. He looked around, apparently trying to orientate himself before he found the other three. McCoy could see how he scanned them all quickly to see if they were alright and how his eyes caught on the makeshift sling around McCoy's arm.

"Bones!", he exclaimed and impulsively started to move towards him.

To everyone's surprise, Pavel suddenly shouted at him. "No! Stop!"

Jim froze and looked at him, same as Nyota and McCoy.

"Sorry, Cjaptain", the Russian stammered, once again blushing. "Ve cannot leave ze exact spots ve are standing on, eet could cause an eenterfeerence wiz ze transporters of ze two vorlds."

Jim looked a bit taken aback. "Didn't think about that", he stated. Then his eyes drifted back to McCoy.

"Bones, what on earth happened to you?" The worry in his voice was evident. Things like slings and casts usually weren't necessary when you had access to medical gear like osteo-regenerators. The sight surely was disconcerting.

"That bastard calling himself Mr Spock, that's what happened. Broke my arm first day we were up there. Guess it was to prove that he would just hurt us should we do anything against his orders." He heard the bitter ring to his words although he tried to banish it from his voice. He knew he should try to keep Jim calm rather than giving him reason to get angry, but the last five days had just been too hard to put on a perfect facade.

He could see Jim turn as red as Pavel, but before his friend could do anything more, light flared around them once more and the intense pain signalling they were transported from one universe to the other caught hold of McCoy's body. It was an excruciating though almost pleasant feeling. It meant they were finally getting home.

* * *

 _A/N: And there we have the end of this particular story arc... Originally, I intended to write much more - three successive arcs, to be exact, and this one the shortest of them - but I don't really have time, and seeing that I didn't exactly got an overwhelming response to this first part, I don't have motivation either. But I enjoyed writing it and that's the most important thing about fanfiction, if you ask me._

 _Two last things  
_ _First: The interdimensional conversation between the two Spocks was written by Avirra, I copied it from "Distorted Reflections" since everything else wouldn't have made sense.  
_ _Second: Once again, I took a liberty with the Log. Originally, it takes a few more days for Jim to find out how Bones' arm was broken, but seeing that it doesn't make much of a difference when I don't continue writing (in the foreseeable future) anyways, I found it more logical for him to get to know it immediately._

 _Thanks for reading and I hope, you liked this piece of work at least a little bit ;-)_


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